


Divided Loyalties

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 132
Words: 199,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5705647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon In the SOuth, who the fuck knows what's going to happen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jon

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon Snow**

It felt strange to think that he had grown up within Winterfell and had only seen the north. Growing up here, within these walls he had felt safe and sometimes alone, that was something he guessed he could attribute to Lady Catelyn, she had done her best through ignoring him to ensure that he was not part of the family. Then again, as he had grown up, he had realised that he could not truly blame her, she had been put in a difficult situation by his father, the honourable Lord Eddard Stark. Jon snorted a little at that, his father was so honourable and yet could not even find the balls to tell him who his mother was, that was something Jon could never understand, it was almost as if his father was ashamed to admit that he had slept with someone, and that Jon was his son. Jon had thought that by now he’d have gotten used to it, but it seemed that he had not really, he supposed that one could never really get over such things. There was just too much hurt and pain there, he’d be glad to leave Winterfell and go anywhere else, perhaps across the narrow sea to become a sellsword, or perhaps to the wall like uncle Benjen, anywhere but here.

The more he thought about it, the more he began wondering if that was why he had been drawn into the sense of family that was there amongst Prince Joffrey’s retinue. Yes, he was close with Robb, but recently there had been a distance between them, as Robb and he had grown, and Robb had increasingly begun focussing on his duties as heir to Winterfell, Jon had been left behind. He was not sure what to think about that, he loved his brother, he truly did, it was just that, he was angry about being left behind. And so when the royal court had come to Winterfell, Jon had sort of been swallowed up by it all. That the crown prince had showed an interest in him had come as a huge surprise, he had never truly thought that the prince would do something like that, Jon had always thought royals cared more for the nobility than they did any poor bastard, but it seemed the crown prince was different, that he did care. Jon had found some companionship amongst the crown prince and his friends it was something good and something that took his mind off of things with Robb.

Of course the fact that he was now speaking with his brother, was something that was good, but Jon was not sure just how true this whole thing was and what more there might be behind his brother’s motives. “So are you certain of what you want to do Jon? Do you want to go to the wall or do you want to remain here?” his brother asks.

Jon looks at his brother and sighs. “You know I cannot stay here Robb, Lady Catelyn does not like me, and she would not want to see a constant reminder of her husband’s shame when her husband is not here.”

“My mother is not the Stark in Winterfell, I am. If you want to stay you need merely ask and you can.” his brother responds.

Jon looks at Robb then and sighs. “I do not want to cause more trouble. And we both know that that is what will happen. Bran is not well, and your mother is not in the right frame of mind for this sort of thing. No it is better that I do not remain here.”

“So you will just turn your back on your family and do what? Go north to the wall, and freeze yourself half to death there?” Robb asks.

“There is honour in serving in the Night’s Watch, Robb.” Jon responds feeling a bit of anger beginning to stir within him. “And besides Uncle Benjen serves with the watch, I could learn from him and become a ranger.”

His brother looks at him a moment and then says. “I suppose if that is what you want. Though I have to admit, I am surprised that you are not going south with father and the girls.”

Jon looks at his brother and asks. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I know that the prince has taken a liking to you, as has his retinue, which to me suggests that they might well want something from you. And I know you have been spending time with them, so I am surprised you have not asked to go south either.” Robb responds a hint of something within his voice.

Jon feels something akin to pleasure that his brother sounds a little jealous. “I did not think it would be right to ask to go south. I am a bastard after all, and it would be seen as strange or perhaps a dishonour for me to go south.”

“So you are merely going to head northward to the wall, where you will sit, eat and shit for the rest of your life, doing nothing of use?” Robb asks incredulously.

Jon looks at his brother, anger growing ever larger within him. “The Night’s Watch helps defend the realms of men against the wildlings and against other things that lurk beyond the wall, as you well know considering what we learned from that deserter.”

His brother looks at him surprised then. “Surely you do not believe the nonsense that that man was sprouting. He was half mad when we found him, he could have been saying anything to keep his head on his neck. He was a deserter and he was a fool.”

“But we did find the direwolves, and we all know that they have not been seen south of the wall for hundreds of years, and yet he said they would be somewhere nearby. What do you call that then?” Jon asks.

“Luck, pure and simple luck.” his brother responds.

Before Jon can respond, there is a knock on the door, and then it opens, Jory stands there looking at them both, a strange expression on his face. “Your father wishes to see you Jon. He is in his solar.”

Jon looks at Robb, a fleeting sense of anger still there, before nodding and turning to walk out of the room following Jory to his father’s solar, he knocks and then opens the door. His father looks tired, there are lines across his face that were not there before the royal party came to Winterfell, Jon is not sure how to feel about that. He sits down in the seat his father offers him and remains silent, waiting for his father to speak.

Eventually the man does, and when he does his voice is soft. “It seems you have made quite the impression on Prince Joffrey son. He has asked for you to come south with us as a member of his retinue.”

Jon feels surprised at this news. He looks at his father, looking to see if the man is lying to him, when he cannot see any trace of a lie he asks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes son, Prince Joffrey has specifically asked for you to accompany us as a member of his retinue.” father responds.

Jon looks at his father and then merely nods. “Okay then.”

“You accept?” Ned asks. “You know that this means you will be travelling as part of the prince’s company, separate to our own? There might be other rules about Ghost.”

“I know, and I accept that.” Jon says, feeling something akin to joy flow through him, he will be going south, with the prince, he will get to see new things, the prince had kept his promise it would seem.

His father seems to be looking at him intently. “Very well then. Begin packing your things we shall be leaving within the week’s end.”

Jon nods, stands up and then walks out of the room, Ghost trailing after him. He spends the rest of the week packing his things and preparing for the time when he can leave Winterfell. The atmosphere around the castle is somewhat heavy, Bran has not woken up from his fall, and Jon feels as though he might never see his brother again, he does not know why that is, but he does feel that way. It is almost as if there is something hanging over his brother, something deeply disturbing that might prevent such a thing from happening. He sincerely wishes it is not so, but somewhere, some part of him thinks that that might be the case. The conversation with Lady Catelyn is one he would rather forget, it hurts, but what hurts more is seeing his father standing there in the doorway looking rather guilty, he ignores his father, but does not forget the anger that is growing inside him at the thought of his father standing there doing nothing, the same thing he has been doing for all of Jon’s life.

His goodbye with Robb is somewhat less painful. He looks at his brother, with snow falling into his hair and says. “I will see you soon. When Sansa gets married.”

“Aye,” Robb responds. “Stay safe brother and be careful, King’s Landing is not Winterfell. Keep an eye on the girls and father for me.”

“I will, you keep an eye on Theon and keep yourself safe brother.” Jon responds before hugging his brother, they hold that embrace for a moment before breaking. Jon nods and then mounts his horse, spurring his horse on to meet that of the prince, he nods at the prince and then turns back for one last look at the inside of Winterfell, that done, he rides on with the prince.

They ride out in a stream, Jon looks at Winterfell for a brief moment as he leaves, Ghost at his side, and he drinks in the sight before him, feeling for some reason as if this is the last time he will ever see Winterfell as it is right now. For some reason he feels that the next time he comes to Winterfell, things might be very, very different. He turns back to the road ahead of him and rides on, they ride in silence for a time and then the prince speaks. “Thank you for coming along Jon. I know my request seemed sudden.”

“It is nothing my prince,” Jon responds. “I am honoured truly I am.”

“Well it is only right after all. So tell me Jon, what do you think of our little journey south. Is there anything you think we should stop and see whilst we are here within the north for the next few days?” the prince asks.

Jon is surprised to be asked such a question and spends some time considering it before finally responding. “I think that visiting the barrows of the First men would make for an interesting view my prince. There is a lot of history within these lands and it would be shame not to be able to explore them properly.”

The prince seems to consider this before responding. “What sort of things might we learn from seeing the barrows Jon?”

“How the people of the north lived in the old days and the best way to cook meat on a raw fire.” Jon responds grinning. Something about the prince, makes him feel more at ease when it comes to making jokes.

The crown prince smiles too then. “Very well, I shall tell my father about the great barrows. We shall stop there for a time. Now, tell me Jon, is there anything you would like to see in King’s Landing when we get there?”

Jon thinks on this a moment, a thought keeps popping into his head, or rather has kept popping into his head during his time with the prince, but he is not sure why. And so finally to put the matter to rest he says. “I would quite like to see the dragon pit as well as the tombs of the dragons, my prince.”

The crown prince looks at him intently, his eyes looking into Jon’s and then he says softly. “Very well then, that shall be arranged.”


	2. Ned

**2 nd Month of 298 A.C. Barrowlands**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

It was always the same dream, it had always been the same dream. Walking down the stairs leading to the crypts, and there before him was a pale shadow, calling out to him. “Lord Eddard, Lord Eddard come quickly.” The shadow would say, and Ned would feel his heart beat quicken and would follow the shadow as quickly as he could, and when he came before what was being shown he felt his whole world fall apart. The scene before him was something terrifying, something completely terrifying, he saw Bran his legs broken, a three eyed raven gnawing away at his son’s face, whilst Rickon, sweet little Rickon rode at the band of monsters and men, chasing down someone or the other, and then there was Arya, but he could not see her, she had become a stranger to him. Robb, Robb was gone, disappeared within the night, blood was where his bed had been, and Catelyn was a monster herself, distraught through it all. Ned could not see Jon or Sansa, but the shadows were circling him, and they were calling him, and they were eating at him. It was pain beyond pain, something that he really, really did not know how to deal with. It had been the same dream every night since he had heard word of Jon Arryn’s death and it was beginning to drive him crazy.

Ned sits on the bed, looking at the darkness before him, his mind is going mad in the predawn light, and he does not know what to do really, he really does not. He does not know what to make of the dreams that plague him now. He has never really been good with dreams and interpreting them, all he knows is that sometimes they come true and sometimes they do not, it really does make him wonder what might be happening in the future, but he had told himself once long ago, to never worry about the future, only the present counted. And yet, the future has come to bite him before, Jon has come south, something Ned had tried desperately to avoid, it has happened, and now, well now gods alone know what might happen. Robert is not what he once was, where before there was a warrior, now there is only a husk of a man. It is unnerving for Ned, and he wonders just what it is he is walking into, he really does wonder about what he is walking into. He is not sure if he will like it or not.

He hears footsteps outside his tent, and waits for the man outside to speak, he hears Jory’s voice then. “I am sorry my lord, but the king wishes for your presence.”

Ned grunts. “Okay. Thank you Jory.” He waits and then once he is sure Jory has gone, he stands up and begins getting changed, knowing Robert, the man will most likely want to go riding. And sure enough, when Ned walks to where Robert is, he finds two horses saddled, he looks at his friend and the king merely nods. Ned mounts his horse and spurs the beast on as Robert begins galloping off to places unknown, just the two of them, no Kingsguard, no anything. They ride in silence for a long time, and then eventually Robert stops, and when Ned sees where they have stopped he understands, this is the barrow of the first men, where the first men once buried their dead.

The king looks at the place before him and then looks at Ned. “You know sometimes I forget this. I forget that your realm is as big as the other six combined Ned. How in the name of the seven hells do you manage to keep a hand on it?”

Ned grins slightly. “I make sure my lords know that I remember them, and I wander through the kingdom making sure the people know that I remember them as well. People are less likely to do something stupid, if they know their superiors know who they are.”

Robert laughs then. “How very fitting that is then eh. So, the north has done well under your leadership has it then Ned? I know for certain that the taxes always come in time.”

Ned considers this for a moment and then responds. “Aye, they are doing well, at least I would think so. We have not had a bad harvest for years now, and the summer snows are not as bad as they once were.”

His friend whistles then. “Summer Snows, now that is something. That truly sounds like something Ned. How thick is the snow when it lands in Summer, and is it cold to touch?”

There is such wonder in his friend’s voice, that Ned does not have the heart to reprimand him for his childish question. “It is very cold to touch Your Grace. And, the snow is not that thick it is easy to wade through.”

“Enough of that Your Grace bollocks Ned. Call me by my name.” his friend says.

“Okay, Robert.” Ned says smiling.

“So how are things between yourself and Bolton, if I remember correctly last time we spoke there had been some sort of trouble between you two?” Robert asks.

Ned’s smile disappears at his friend’s words, he does not like thinking of that time, when he was so new to the Lordship that there were things that he did not truly understand. “That was nigh on fourteen years ago Robert, and since then things have been sorted. I believe myself and Lord Bolton are on more of an understanding now than we were then.”

“Fourteen years? Gods, where has the time gone. Why did I not come north sooner? There was much and more we could have done to make things better you know.” Robert says.

“I was ruling the north for you Your Grace, and you were ruling the seven kingdoms. We both had things we needed to do.” Ned says.

“Still, we won that damned throne together, we should have been ruling together for far longer than we are about to. The three of us, you, me and Jon, we should have been ruling together from the beginning. Perhaps that might’ve made Jon happier.” Robert says.

“What do you mean by that?” Ned asks curious. “Was Jon unhappy?”

Robert looks at him then. “I do not know Ned. There was a lot that Jon did not tell me, I do know he never really liked his marriage to your wife’s sister. I know the two of them used to argue a lot, and that that might have played a role in some of his decisions.”

“What decisions?” Ned asks curious.

“He was planning on sending his boy to Casterly Rock to foster under Tywin Lannister, to try and get him away from his mother. The boy, my namesake for the love of the gods Ned, is nothing more than a snivelling wreck. He spends most of his time at his mother’s teat, and whilst his mother does have big teats, they are more than likely filled with poison.” Robert responds.

“I would not trust an animal with Tywin Lannister, let alone a child.” Ned responds, his voice going cold at the thought of Cat’s nephew spending any amount of time with Tywin Lannister.

Robert laughs then. “Ach he is not that bad Ned, aye sure he has done things that neither of us quite agree with, but one of them did make it easier for me to claim the throne, and it did make it easier for you to find Lyanna. So I would say it might have done the boy some good to spend some time with him.”

Ned grimaces then, he remembers the argument he had had with Robert that day, following the sack when all hell had broken loose. He wonders then if he had taken a course, had things been different, but then there is no reason thinking of that now. “But of course he will not be going there, because Lysa took her boy and fled.”

At this, Robert snorts. “A rather ridiculous move on her part. What did she think I was going to do? Take the boy and force him to go to the Rock? Gods man, I would have merely kept an eye on him. He is Jon’s boy I am not going to impede on his rights.”

Ned wonders at this. “And what about the warden titles? Are they going to be his as is his right?”

At this his friend changes. “No. He is a child, and there was word from Varys this morning. It seems Daenerys Targaryen has married some Dothraki Horselord in return for the Dothraki supporting her brother.”

At this, Ned feels his stomach drop slightly. “Shall we send them a present?” He asks joking slightly.

His friend snorts. “This is serious Ned, the bitch is married to a Horselord, and a powerful one at that. The boy is getting some support now.”

Ned looks at his friend then and responds. “The Dothraki do not like the sea, they have never thought about crossing it, they are terrified of it. They will not cross.”

Robert seems unconvinced. “I do not know about that Ned, I have been hearing things. Disturbing things from across the sea. It seems that someone or a group of people are beginning to consider funding Viserys Targaryen and giving him the tools he needs to proceed forward with an invasion. It seems after years of doing nothing, he is to become a serious threat.”

Once more Ned feels his stomach drop at this. “And what makes you think that? Do you know who it is who is funding him?”

There is a long silence then, his friend seems to be deep in thought and Ned finds himself growing more and more nervous as the silence stretches on. He is not quite sure what to make of all of this, he remembers the dying days of the rebellion, he remembers what happened during the sack, and he knows, he just knows that something is going wrong here. Someone is not remaining true to their part of the plan, or whatever it was that they made that day. Eventually Robert speaks. “Someone known only as the Golden Shoal is sending money to the Targaryen boy, and there are others, others who are allies of the Shoal working alongside him to make the boy a more attractive prospect.”

Ned feels like groaning when he hears that name, he has heard it only once before, long, long ago, when the rebellion was being fought, and he was just a boy. He swallows and then asks. “Do you know who the Golden Shoal is?”

“I think it is rather a group of people, there is too much disparity within the reports coming from Varys for it to be anything else. There is someone or a group of people working under a name, determined to keep themselves anonymous from our sight, and they are working to bring that bastard back.” Robert responds.

Ned can feel the nervousness within him begin to grow, he worries that they are about to go treading down a rather dark path, and he is not sure how to stop them from going down that path without revealing too much of his own secrets. “What do you want to do about them?”

His friend is silent for a long time, Ned feels his nerves begin to grow during this time, and he wonders just what it is his friend knows or does not know about all of this. Ned knows somethings, but even he does not know the full extent of all the things that happened during the dying days of the rebellion. Finally his friend says. “I will find them and I will have them killed. Every single last one of them.”

Ned considers this a moment and then says. “Very well, I shall send men to begin working on it Your Grace.”


	3. Sansa

**3 rd Month of 298 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**Sansa Stark**

The royal party’s time at Winterfell had been one of fun for Sansa. She had enjoyed seeing the splendour that come with the royal court from the south, and she had enjoyed spending time with both the prince and the princess, truly she had. Prince Joffrey was charming and kind and smart, and Sansa truly thought he would make a very good king when his time came, a much better king than his oaf of a father, whom Sansa was surprised to see. Every time she saw King Robert she was surprised, the man from her father’s tales was not the man she saw before her, he was fat, he was an oaf, and he was a drunkard, she knew her father did not like what the king had become, and she did not understand why he did not say anything. Still, Prince Joffrey was kind and very handsome, so that was something. And Princess Myrcella was friendly as well, Sansa was having a lot of fun with the royal children and as such she did not want the journey to end though she was also really looking forward to arriving at King’s Landing and finally seeing the city she would help her husband rule in time.

She had been surprised when the prince had asked for Jon to come south with them. Jon was a bastard, and she was not really sure why the prince would want to spend time with him, considering that Jon rarely seemed to do anything of interest, or rather say anything of interest. Still, she supposed that was another sign of just how good her prince was, he had taken an interest in Jon and was making Jon feel included and special, something that Robb, Sansa had noted had not done for some time, what with his increasing amount of time spent with Theon. Sansa did not like Theon she thought him vulgar and a rogue, and someone to be avoided at all cost. And then there was Arya, her little sister who annoyed and angered Sansa to no end, she did not understand why father had brought her south with them, she would merely get in the way, and she was already spending time with those people who she really should not be spending time with. It angered Sansa that Arya could do or say anything, and usually she would get away with it, and yet if she had said something similar she would have been reprimanded for it. There was a small part of her that whispered that it was because Arya reminded father of their aunt Lyanna, and she could not help but feel resentful at that.

Shaking her head, Sansa clears her thoughts for the time being, the prince is walking with her, his hound following a short distance behind. Now is not the time to be worrying over something so small and trivial as Arya. Her prince looks dashing in his gold and black doublet, his eyes intent. His voice is soft beside her. “So tell me my lady, what is your favourite part of the north? Is it Winterfell?”

Sansa considers the question, the prince had been showing a fair bit of interest in the north and Winterfell in particular, she is not sure why, but she is happy all the same, for it gives her something to talk to him about. “I quite like Winterfell, it is my home and it is the only part of the north I have ever truly seen. But I have heard tales of a castle near Long Lake, not Last Hearth but another one that glistens in the sunlight and shines brightly in the snow. It is said to be very beautiful.”

The prince looks at her intently. “And do you know if anyone lives there?”

Sansa considers what she knows about the castle and then shakes her head. “No, I do not think anyone lives there. I do not think anyone has lived there for some time. Something happened a few years ago, or maybe it was more than that, that made it so no one wanted to live there.”

“And what do you think happened?” the prince asks conspiringly.

Sansa looks at him and thinks, she is not really sure truth be told, she never really paid attention to that sort of thing, that was more Arya’s thing really, but she does not want to disappoint the prince and so she says. “I think there was a girl who lived there who fell in love with someone and then it ended badly.”

The prince nods along with her. “And why do you think it ended badly?” he asks.

Sansa thinks and then she remembers something her father said once long ago when she was very young and had asked about the castle. “It seemed that the man the girl fell in love with, did not have the right intentions, and as such when the girl’s family found out, it seemed that things went wrong from the beginning.” her father had looked very sad then, and had changed the subject, but Sansa had remembered that.

“Went wrong how?” the prince asks.

“I think the girl’s brother challenged the man she was in love with to a duel, for her honour, and the man killed the girl’s brother. And then they had to flee, but they could not leave, the castle so they stayed there, until the man had to leave for war.” Sansa says.

“How very sad.” The prince says. “And it has not been inhabited since then?” he asks.

Sansa looks at him wondering why he is asking about the castle and then she says. “Aye, it has not been inhabited since then.”

The prince looks thoughtful, and for a moment Sansa thinks he is going to ask another question about the castle, but instead he asks. “Have you explored every part of Winterfell my lady?”

Normally Sansa would find that an odd question to ask, but coming from the prince it seems perfectly normal. “I have explored a lot of the castle, mainly when I was younger, but there are some parts that I have not. I know that Jon has though, he knows the castle very well.”

Sansa sees the crown prince nod and then notes how he leans down to ruffle Lady’s hair. Her direwolf has always been the best behaved of the direwolves, but she seems to have a particular affinity for the prince, Sansa is happy with that. She really is. Eventually, the prince stands and speaks once more. “Is there anything you would like to know my lady? I know that you are anxious for us to get to King’s Landing, and I promise to answer any questions that you might have about the place. But I also know that your mother is a Tully, and we are in the Riverlands. So is there anything you’d like to know about your mother’s kingdom?”

Sansa thinks for a moment, growing up, her mother had told her tales of what she had gotten up to in Riverrun with her sister and brother and a man named Petyr Baelish, tales that had made Sansa jealous slightly, her siblings never seemed to want to do anything with her. But her mother had never really spoken to her about the Riverlords themselves. Taking a moment to think, Sansa then decides to ask about one of the Riverlords she is really curious about. “Is it true that Walder Frey has a lot of children?”

The crown prince laughs. “Aye he does, more than I think he knows what to do with. We were going to stay with him on the way back, but my mother did not want to really spend more time in that castle with all those weasels. He can be quite an unpleasant man when he wants to be.”

“Then I am glad we did not stop there.” Sansa responds.

The prince laughs then and smiles at her, Sansa feels her heart flutter then. “Is there anything else you wish to know my lady? I do not know how much your mother told you about her father’s lords, but they are a very interesting lot of lords. There is a lot of history between them.”

Sansa thinks on this, and then for some reason that she cannot quite explain she asks. “What of the Darrys? They were Targaryen loyalists once, are they still?”

The crown prince snorts then, and for a moment Sansa fears that she has asked the wrong question, but the prince smiles at her once more and she puts her fears at bay. “The Darrys are an interesting house. They were fanatically loyal to the dragons, for reasons I do not think they even understand anymore, and then the dragons fell and they lost a lot of their lands and their lordly rank. And yet, there is a part of me that thinks that they are still dragon loyalists, there were some things that happened when we stayed there with them that gave it away.”

“Oh?” Sansa asks intrigued. “Such as?”

“There were banners resting within their keep, deep within their keep that my uncle Tyrion found. Dragon banners.” the prince responds.

Sansa gasps then. “That…that is treason.”

“Aye it is.” the prince responds.

“Did you tell the king?” Sansa asks.

The prince shakes his head. “I decided not to, my father has a capacity to be quite angry when the dragons are mentioned. I do not think it is worth seeing another house die because of some fabled loyalty. Let them rest in peace instead.”

Sansa looks in awe at the prince then. “That, that is quite noble my prince, truly quite noble. You did not have to do that and yet you did.”

The prince merely shrugs. “It does not cost me to be kind to a house that will one day be ruled by me. Besides, who am I to fault them for their loyalty? They are clearly passionate people.”

Sansa feels her admiration for the prince grow then. “Very true.” she responds smiling.

Silence falls between them, and they continue walking, Lady walking at their side and occasionally nudging the prince’s side for some attention, Sansa smiles at the sight, she is happy that her direwolf has taken a shine to the prince. They continue walking and Sansa marvels at the greenery before her, growing up in the north, she had only really seen brown and dark colours, but here it seems the riverlands are filled to the brim with green and blue. It makes a very different sight, and one she is happy to see. Eventually, the prince speaks. “And what of King’s Landing, is there anything that you wish to know about the place that will soon be your home?”

Sansa thinks for a moment and then asks. “What sort of things will we be expected to do as we are betrothed?”

The prince takes a moment to consider the question and then responds. “There will be some functions that we are no doubt expected to attend. Something along the lines of attending the manors of some noble lords within the crownlands, as well as opening various charities and such. Nothing too strenuous.”

Sansa nods. “Okay, that is good. I did not want to be doing nothing whilst we were there.” she takes a moment and then realises what she has just said, blushing she quickly says. “I did not mean to sound so rude my prince.”

The prince laughs. “That is perfectly fine my lady, you were merely stating your opinion.” he stops and turns to face her, Sansa feels her heart begin to quicken as the prince looks at her. “I like that about you my lady. And in response to your statement, aye we shall not be doing nothing whilst there. We shall be doing plenty I promise you.”

Her heart racing, Sansa smiles and responds. “So long as it is with you, I do not mind.”

The prince smiles and responds. “That is good, very good.”

 


	4. Jon II

****

**3 rd Month of 298 A.C. Darry**

**Jon Snow**

It felt strange being out of the north, it was as if there was a part of him missing, he had never left the north before, and he had travelled around the north but never left it. Not like Robb, who had travelled with their father on various outings, one source of jealousy that he felt there. It felt good to be out of the north, it was as if his new life was slowly becoming more real, there was less a sense of it being a dream, and it actually being something solid, something he could hold onto. They were away from the north and away from Robb and Lady Catelyn, he felt as if he could make something of himself now that the shadow of those two was gone, it was something that he felt comfortable with. That they were in the riverlands itself did not give him cause for worry either, he was part of the prince’s retinue, and there was nothing the Tullys could do to harm him, whether they wanted to or not, it did not matter, he was secure for a time. He was grateful for that, grateful for not having to hide anything now, for the prince encouraged them to be open with one another, and there was a real sense of trust there, something he had longed for.

The retinue itself was something to be noted, there were six other lads there apart from Jon. There was the prince’s cousin, Tyrek Lannister, the son of Tygett Lannister the fierce swordsman from the rock, Tyrek was somewhat silent unless spoken to but he was very good with a sword, and seemed to get along with the prince. There was Lucas Blackwood second son of Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall, Lucas was a confident lad and someone Jon liked a lot especially considering he worshipped the old gods as well. Then there was Waymar Royce who Jon was unsure what to make of, Waymar was a quiet lad, but he could be quite loud when he wanted to be, and there seemed to be the fact he hung on every word the prince said. Then there were Horas and Hobber Redwyne who were the sons of Lord Paxter Redwyne, they were twins who did everything together, they spoke together and finished one another’s sentences that was quite unnerving. And finally there was one lad known as Bryce Storm, the bastard of the Mistwood, he did not know who his mother was, but his father had worked alongside King Robert during the king’s time fostering within the Vale. It was with Bryce that Jon got along the most, he could relate to him the most as well, and they had bonded. Bryce had light hair and a deep shade of night coloured eyes and he was just the most interesting person Jon had ever met, barring the prince of course.

“What has you so contemplative Snow?” he hears Lucas ask.

Jon blinks once and then looks around, he sees the boys and the prince looking at him intently. Blushing slightly he responds. “Nothing sorry, I was just remembering that is all.”

“Missing Winterfell eh?” Lucas asks.

“Something like that.” Jon mumbles more to himself than anyone else.

“I am sorry if this is a bit of a personal question Jon,” Bryce says speaking in that soft voice of his. “But what was it like growing up in Winterfell? I know the Tullys have a huge thing about family, but from what I saw this time around, it seems Lady Stark has forgotten that.”

Jon considers the question carefully, aware as he is that all eyes are on him now, including the prince’s. He looks at Ghost, his direwolf merely lounging at his feet. “It was alright. I had a roof over my head and I got food and a place to sleep at night. It was not as bad as it could have been, but it was not as good as it could have been either. I do not think Lady Stark ever really wanted me there.”

“Despite her own family words? That is quite something. Surely she would have remembered them when she saw you as a babe no?” Bryce asks.

Jon wonders briefly why the boy is asking him these questions, but he decides that he does not want to appear rude, so he continues answering. “Well, one would think so. But the one thing I learned is that women like Lady Stark often say one thing and then do another when it suits them. She could have treated me like her son but she did not, why she did not, is something only she and my father know.”

“I do not think that is right.” Bryce says.

“Aye that seems quite odd considering she was a Tully.” Lucas Blackwood says.

Jon shrugs. “Perhaps she could not find it in her heart to love her husband’s shame.”

“Well more fool her then.” Tyrek says clapping Jon on the shoulder. “She has no idea what she missed.”

Jon blushes slightly, and then asks. “Why did you ask Bryce?”

His friend shrugs. “I was curious is all. I have heard many things about Eddard Stark and his family, but from what I saw there were some things that he was lacking in.”

“My father did what he could with the situation he had put himself in.” Jon responds. “I do not quite know whether or not he could have done more or not. But it is in the past now, and I do not really think about it anymore.” He is lying, of course he is lying but they do not need to know that.

Just when he thinks they are going to ask more questions, the prince speaks. “As Jon says, it is in the past. There is no point wallowing in the past, for it is gone and done. There is only the present and the future to wonder on, and I say we do some exploring.”

With that the prince stands up and walks out of the room where they had been, Castle Darry is not as big as it once had been, parts of it destroyed during the rebellion, but the main structure remains intact, they walk through the hallway, the Hound, and Ser Preston Greenfield walking behind them. As they walk the prince whispers. “There is something within these walls that the Darrys do not want us to find.”

“What makes you say that my prince?” Jon asks.

The prince does not stop to look at him, but keeps walking and talking. “Because they are acting all kinds of strange, there is something within these walls or perhaps outside of them that they do not want us to find.”

“What do you think it could be, my prince?” Jon asks.

“Do you think it could be to do with the shoal my prince?” Lucas Blackwood asks.

“The shoal?” Jon asks.

There is a moment’s silence, and then the prince speaks. “The Golden Shoal, is a man or men who are working toward restoring the Targaryens. At least that is what is said about them. Their true motive is not known, but it is known that they are within Essos.”

Jon considers this a moment and then asks. “Why would the Darrys be working with them?”

There is a long awkward silence and then the prince says. “Because the Darrys are fanatically loyal to the Targaryens, they just know how to hide it when we are around.”

As Jon considers this they walk through the hallway and through a door that Jon could have sworn was locked. They walk through the room and out of another door, and then he says. “So what are we going to do my prince?”

The prince stops and looks at him then, as Jon waits for him to respond, he hears the sound of birds chirping, the sky is dark above them, stars filling it. Ghost has his ears cocked back. “We are going to see what we can find out.” With that he turns and continues walking, Jon and the others following.

They continue walking out of the sight of the main keep toward the ruins, Jon begins to grow nervous now, he does not know what is going on or why the prince seems so determined to achieve this thing, whatever it is, but it is making him nervous. As if sensing his nervousness Bryce comes to him and whispers. “Trust me Jon, the prince knows what he is doing.”

Jon looks at the boy and sees his eyes glowing within the night light. “How can you be sure?” Jon whispers in response.

“Because the prince knows what he is doing, and no one would dare accuse him of doing otherwise.” Bryce whispers in response.

They continue walking, the main keep fading into the distance behind them, Jon finds himself wondering just what happened at Darry during the rebellion, his father never speaks of the rebellion, well at least not to him anyway, and as such he only knows what Maester Luwin has told him, and he knows enough to know that that version is not the true version. Something clearly happened at Darry during the rebellion, something that was serious enough to make it the ruin it is today, the prince stops and they all stop. He presses a finger to his lips, and he moves toward the wall before them and they listen to the wind, nothing else there but the wind and then. “It cannot be done now my lord. It just cannot be done.” A female voice, who is that? Jon wonders.

“Why can it not be done now? For god’s sake we have stalled for long enough. It must be done now.” the voice responds, a male voice? Quite deep and gruff.

“Because the things we need are not in order. I know you are desperate for it to happen now, but it cannot happen now. We need more time.” the female responds.

Jon looks at the prince who is listening intently, his face scrunched up into a look of concentration, he looks at the others who are all pressed against the wall before them listening intently as well. The deep voice responds then. “It is not good enough. We must do it and soon, otherwise we shall all be in trouble. Do you want that? You know what the master is like, we shall be finished unless we do it now.” Is that fear in the man’s voice? Jon wonders at it.

The female voice replies then softly, making them all strain to hear. “It will be done when the time is right not before. The master knows that, the master knows not to rush this thing. The question is do you?”

Silence falls then, the deep voice does not reply, and Jon wonders at that, as the silence continues to stretch on he begins growing impatient, eventually he sends Ghost to have a small look around the wall, and through Ghost’s eyes he sees no one there, the people who were there are gone. He whispers to the prince. “They are gone. I can feel it.” the prince looks at him a moment and then nods.

The prince moves past the wall then, and walks out to where the two voices were coming from nothing there, nothing at all, even the grass is not trampled as it should be if there had been people standing there. “Curious, very curious.” the prince whispers.

“You heard it as well then my prince?” Jon asks.

“Aye, I did. Did you all hear the voices?” the prince asks. Various murmurs of agreement come out.

“I wonder who they were and where they might have gone.” Jon wonders.

“Whoever they were, they were clearly quite worried about something.” The prince muses. “We must find out what they were speaking about, and who this master fellow is.”

The prince turns back and walks back toward the keep, they all make to follow him, and Jon finds himself at the back of the group, Ghost at his side, he walks and thinks to himself, wondering all the while what he has just witnessed, when he sees something shining nearby. He stops and picks it up, he looks at it and sees intricate patterns on it, gold and silver, lions and wolves, and stags and dragons and something else, something that looks like a cross of two animals, he looks at it and then calls out. “My prince, I have found something.” The party stops as the prince comes before him and looks at the thing he holds in his hand.

“Seven hells, what is this thing?” the prince asks.

 

 


	5. Arya

**3 rd Month of 298 A.C. Darry**

**Arya Stark**

Arya was angry, terribly angry. She hated it here in the south where it was far too warm for comfort, where the people spoke funny, and acted funny and all kinds of other things that really just did not make sense to her. She did not understand why she had been forced to leave the north and come south with her father and Sansa. She had not wanted to come south, by the gods no, she had wanted to remain in the north to play with Rickon and Bran when he woke up. She had wanted to stay in the north to make sure her mother did not do something funny, but no she had been forced south. Why, Arya did not know and she hated that, she hated not knowing. Her father would not say why she had been brought south, only that she had been brought south to accompany Sansa, and she did not believe that for a moment. She and Sansa despised one another, always had done, and always would do. Sansa was just too different from her, far too different for them to get along, she did not understand it at all.

She had thought that Jon coming south would be something nice, something good, she loved Jon fiercely, and truly she did. There were time when it felt as if they were the only two people in the world, the only two people who knew what the other went through. Jon had always been there for her and she tried to be there for him, but it had been hard considering he was so much older than her. And now, well now he was ignoring her, he was off with the crown prince more often than not, and Arya did not know what to think of that. She did not like the prince, he was taking Jon from her, and he was turning Sansa into even more of a foolish girl than she had been before. He was decent himself,  she had not spent that much time with him, but from what she had observed he seemed alright, it was just that he seemed to be stealing her family from her and she did not like that, she did not like that one bit. She wanted to go home desperately, but her father would not listen to her. He never did.

She was glad of Lyman’s company though, Lyman Darry was heir to Castle Darry and was around her age. He was good fun, a smart kid and one that Arya thought she wouldn’t mind spending more time with. Today they were wandering around Castle Darry, and he was talking to her about the history of his house. “You see, we were once powerful lords within the Riverlands before the rebellion. We helped House Tully crush numerous rebellions within the riverlands, led by the Brackens and sometimes the Blackwoods as well. We were their strong right hand. My great grandsire, Lord Serwyn Darry slew Lord Jasper Bracken during the third Blackfyre rebellion as well, ending him and his line.”

Arya looks at him intrigued. “Oh really? And why did the Blackwoods and the Brackens keep rebelling? I would have thought those two would be on opposing sides each time.”

Lyman looks at her then. “Oh they were, but you see the Blackwoods and the Brackens never understood why the conqueror named House Tully as rulers of the riverlands, for they had never been kings in the days of old. They were always the strongest or one of the strongest banner houses to those who had served as kings, and both the Blackwoods and the Brackens felt that they had been denied their rightful place. So they rebelled.”

Arya had noted how Lyman always spoke reverently whenever he spoke of the Targaryens, and though Arya had not real opinion on the dragon lords herself, she knew that speaking of them in the way that Lyman did was perhaps not the smartest thing to do. Still she kept silent on that matter choosing instead to say. “Well that is quite stupid. If the king had chosen the Tullys as the liege lord of the riverlands, surely they should have accepted that and moved on.”

Lyman smirks then. “Aye one would think that. But neither Blackwood nor Bracken has ever really been reasonable. I mean they still hold a rivalry against one another for something that happened so long ago, everyone including them have forgotten what the true cause of it was. They are not two houses that you would want in charge of a place like the Riverlands.”

Arya looks at Lyman, he is a smart kid, smarter for certain than some of the other idiots she has met during her time within the Riverlands, smarter than that fool Elmar who she had met whilst passing through the entrance to the Riverlands. “And what do you think started the Blackwood-Bracken war?” she asks curious to see what Lyman says.

Her friend is silent for a moment and then he says thoughtfully. “Some claim there was a woman involved, and in most of these wars, there is always a woman involved somewhere along the line, it seems men will lose their senses over women. But, I do not think that was what started all of this. You see the Blackwoods came from the north originally, I believe your family drove them out of their home, and so the Brackens accepted them into the lands where Raventree Hall now stands, but somewhere along the line, they grew more powerful than the Brackens thought they would and they crowned themselves king.”

“So because they crowned themselves king they began fighting with the Brackens?” Arya asks. “That sounds stupid.”

“Aye it does, but then no one ever said a Blackwood had much sense, or a Bracken for that matter. And it only worsened over time, when others became kings of the trident, one side would fight for one king and the other would then fight for the other side. And for centuries it went on, until the dragons came and ended it for a time.” Lyman says, once more with that slightly reverent tone in his voice.

“But it did not really work now did it?” Arya questions. “After all the Blackwoods and Brackens came to war during the reign of King Viserys the First, as well as during the reign of King Aegon the Third, and during many other Targaryen kings’ reigns. There was not a lot of peace between them other than during the reign of the old king. So really the dragons did nothing.”

Lyman looks angry now, his nostrils flaring up, and his tone is severe when he responds. “They did what they could do to stop two idiots from fighting. It is not as if they could take them in hand and destroy them every time they did something bad.”

“And why not?” Arya asks. “They were the rulers of Westeros, surely they had a duty to sort these sort of things out?”

“Like the Tullys did?” Lyman asks. “They were the liege lords of the Blackwoods and the Brackens, but more often than not were powerless to stop the fighting between the two houses. If what you claim is true, then surely the Tullys are more at fault here. If they could not control two of their bannermen, why should they control an entire kingdom?”

Feeling anger growing inside her at the boy’s accusation she says. “Because the dragonlords had entrusted it to them. What did House Darry do when this happened?”

Lyman looks at her, anger plain on his face now. “We did what we could, but their lands are further north than ours are or were, and so we did what we could, but sometimes it was not enough.” A sadness fills his voice then.

Arya looks at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Lyman sighs, a deep shuddering sound. “The Blackfyres led a rebellion in two hundred and nineteen A C, and it was a big one, almost as if not bigger than the first Blackfyre rebellion. The kingdoms had grown discontent with King Aerys Targaryen’s rule,” here Lyman pulls a face before continuing. “And they thought they had the perfect candidate to replace him in Haegon Blackfyre the fourth son of Daemon Blackfyre. Haegon’s older brother Daemon had died in the black cells some two years prior, and things had been building up when he invaded. There was fighting everywhere I believe apart from the north, but in the Riverlands there was a lot of fighting. House Tully was reduced to its knees, the lord and his heirs were destroyed, and a woman came to inherit Riverrun, a cousin of the lord, she remained a Tully and her husband well, there was no husband, but her children were legitimised by the king as an act of thanks.”

“I do not understand, what does this have to do with the Darrys?” Arya asks.

Lyman takes another deep shuddering breath and then says. “The woman’s lover had been a Darry and he died during the fighting, and well I do not know the full story, but I do know that whatever happened during the fighting, it caused the woman unbearable pain.”

Arya senses that there is more to the story, more that Lyman is not telling her, or perhaps he really does not know. But regardless, looking around her she sees that the sun is nearly setting and so she says. “Well, I guess you are right about one thing Lyman. Things are not often what they seem.”

Lyman smiles and Arya smiles back at him, together they walk toward the door and he turns to her and says. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here my lady. And that you enjoy King’s Landing.”

“Where are you going?” Arya asks suspiciously.

Lyman looks at her and then says. “My father and I are going out riding somewhere just after you leave, but we must make the preparations now so I shall bid you farewell now my lady.” With that he bows and walks away.

Arya looks at him as he walks away and she feels the urge to go exploring, she does not know why she suddenly feels the urge, only that she does, and so she does not fight it, she learned long ago, that fighting this urge would make no one happy, least of all herself. And so she turns and walks away from the door, Nymeria following her, they walk and walk and walk, the sky is growing darker outside, and it is strange to think that it lasts longer here than it did back home. Home, she misses home, she misses her home desperately. Regardless of what her father says, she does not think she will ever feel at home in the south, never, she is of the north and that is where she should be.

She keeps walking until she stops before a wall, a wall with sun and stars etched onto it, she walks up to it and looks over, Nymeria at her side. There she sees nothing for a moment, but for some reason she cannot quite explain to herself, she remains fixed to where she is just looking, as if she knows that something will come. Eventually, something, or rather someone, or two people appear, both are hooded and cloaked. One of them is taller than the other, and it is the tall one who speaks. “How goes the progress on the task the master set you?”

The taller one’s voice is gruff, very gruff, and Arya wonders who the person is. She ducks down, belatedly realising the trouble she could be in if found. She hears the shorter figure respond. “It goes well, soon enough it will be ready, and then we might continue on with the plan.”

“Good, we have waited for long enough now. The master grows impatient, the time is coming and we must be ready for when it is here. No more false starts.” the taller figure responds.

“What of the girl? What will become of her?” the smaller figure asks.

“She will become what she must, death is coming.” the taller figure responds.


	6. Ned II

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The journey southwards had been one of most nervous of Ned’s life, and though he tried to say to himself that he was merely imagining things, he knew that that was not the truth. There were a whole host of reasons to be nervous. First of all, Jon Arryn was dead, and the more Ned thought about Lysa’s letter the more it seemed the Lannisters had had a hand in his death, and that was something that unnerved him, especially when one looked at the court and saw just how many Lannisters and Lannister men and women there were within King’s Landing and the Red Keep. Ned often found himself wondering how he could have allowed himself to be so stupid, allowing his own grief to cloud sound judgement, he should have taken advantage of his position as Robert’s friend, and it was something that Brandon would have done, but he had not done it and now he feared he would pay the price for that. Furthermore, Jon had come south with them, travelling with the prince’s retinue, a retinue that was quite diverse in its members, the presence of Bryce Storm, was one that Ned had not expected, the boy was more knowledgeable than anyone Ned had ever met and he wondered at that.  He was also worried, or rather had been worried during their journey southward because of the fact that they had been travelling through the Riverlands, and Cat’s family had no reason to truly trust or like Jon, he had worried about what that might bring, but they had not acted, indeed, Edmure had not even come to greet them, or rather he had but rather briefly. Hoster had remained abed, it seemed.  Still they were in King’s Landing now, and things were good for the time being.

Darry, that was the one place that continued to stick out to Ned, Darry, it was always Darry. During the rebellion Darry had been a bustling centre of trade and commerce, the Darrys had been well rewarded for their loyalty to the Targaryens and were almost as powerful if not more powerful than the Tullys during the rebellion. Where their loyalty that bordered on worship of the Targaryens had come from, Ned was not sure, no one was he did not think, but it had cost them during the rebellion. Ned had been part of the campaign that had destroyed most of Darry, allowing the anger which had grown within him to take control. Men and women and children had perished before his sword and the swords of his men, and he had come to, horrified of what he had done, wondering how in the name of the seven hells he had become this monster. Only Raymun Darry, a boy of thirteen had been left alive from the mainline, his brothers dead on the Trident shortly afterward, his father dead during the scourging. Ned had been appalled at what he and his men had done, and had tried for years to make up for that, and it seemed that slowly it was working. Raymun no longer bore him any ill will, if he had of course born him any in the first place, but there was clear tension there, and Ned suspected that sooner or later there would come a time when Ned would need to visit Darry once more. He just hoped it was not soon, he did not think he could handle such a situation now.

They had arrived in King’s Landing some two weeks ago, and Ned had been surprised, Robert had never really been all that attentive in his lessons when they were boys, but Ned had truly been surprised at the lack of attention he gave the council meetings. And there were many other things that bothered Ned about all of this, one of which was the tourney, Robert had insisted on holding to celebrate his appointment as Hand of the King, despite the realm not having enough money for it. Six million dragons in debt, by the love of the old gods that was far too much debt! And of course Stannis Baratheon was not here, that was something Ned found odd, and so he had come to speak to Renly, to see whether the young Lord of Storm’s End knew anything about his brother’s absence.

“Stannis?” Renly responds, the man looking more and more like Robert every day. “He has probably gone off to Dragonstone to moan about the fact that Robert named you and not him hand of the king. He has long coveted that position and now that it has gone to someone else, well who knows how the fool is acting.”

Ned looks at the man then and says. “It does not sound like Stannis to go off and moan about something. He seems the type to get things done because he is asked to do them.”

Lord Renly laughs then. “That was who he was when you met him during the Siege of Storm’s End. Hells even during the Greyjoy Rebellion, I suppose one could argue that he was still that man. But now? Now that man is long dead, and I do believe there are some things Stannis would never consider doing now.”

Intrigued and slightly worried Ned asks. “Such as?”

“Returning to King’s Landing even if the hand of the king asked him to.” Renly responds. “He will not come because he bears a grudge against you. If I remember correctly, he has become convinced that you are trying to claim everything that he has ever done for Robert as your own. He resents that.”

Surprised, Ned exclaims. “Surely he cannot seriously believe that?”

Renly laughs. “It is Stannis, he will believe whatever he can convince himself is the truth, to make it easier for him to bear the fact that he is not doing his duty.”

“I had thought duty was everything to the man?” Ned asks.

Renly laughs, and to Ned it sounds as if he is a tad sad. “It was once, but I think he spent far too much time here in King’s Landing, and he has become a bitter old man. And not one you would want on the small council my lord hand.”

“Has his ability to be master of ships fallen because of this bitterness?” Ned asks.

The Lord of Storm’s End seems to be giving the question some serious thought, and Ned feels something akin to worry begin to form within him. If Stannis is no longer capable of being master of ships, then who in the name of the old gods will he name as master of ships? Wyman has no true experience as ship hand, and Velaryon has not been a master of ships since Aerys reign for good reason. Eventually Renly responds. “I would believe so yes, but then again that is just my opinion. If he does respond to any of your letters, you might as well ask him yourself. Only Stannis has ever been the best judge of Stannis.”

Ned sighs then. That was not what he was hoping for, he was somewhat hoping there would be a more detailed description of what Stannis had actually done in the years following the Greyjoy rebellion, but it seems, that that is just one more thing that he will have to find out for himself. Looking at Lord Renly, he asks him. “How are things between yourself and the Tyrells my lord?”

Renly looks somewhat suspiciously at Ned, but responds. “They are well my lord hand, why do you ask?”

Ned looks at the man and considers whether or not he should give the honest answer or not. Taking a deep breath and thinking to himself that he has nothing to lose. “I do not know if this will come to be, but we both know that the king does not exactly have the healthiest life right now, and should the worst come to pass, I want to know if I can count on your support.”

Renly nods. “Aye, of course my lord hand. Anything to prevent the Lannister woman from sinking her claws deeper into my nephew.”

Ned feels something akin to nerves filter through him once more. “There will be nothing too serious though, she is still their mother.”

The Lord of Storm’s End nods. “Of course my lord hand.”

Ned nods though he is not completely convinced of the man’s sincerity, still he says his farewells and then walks out of the room. He keeps walking until he comes to the foot the maester’s tower, he has been meaning to speak to Pycelle for some time now, and has never gotten round to it, well today he has the time, and so he begins the long ascent up the stairs toward Pycelle’s working quarters. He finds the maester there reading over some tome or the other, and when he coughs the man shuts the book. “Ah my lord hand, what might I do for you?” the man asks.

Ned looks at the man wonders about his history, he knows that Pycelle started as Grand Maester during the reign of King Aegon the Fifth, but before that he does not know much more about him. Taking a deep breath he says. “You treated Jon Arryn before his death, did you notice anything odd about his condition when you treated him?”

The maester seems to be concentrating hard as he tries to remember and then eventually he says. “Nothing seemed odd about his condition, other than the fact that it was quite sudden my lord hand.”

“Sudden?” Ned asks. “You mean that there was not a build-up of illness beforehand?”

The maester takes a moment to consider and then he says. “No, there was no build-up my lord hand. There was just one moment where he seemed fine and then another where he was coughing and ill, deeply ill. It was quite worrying, very worrying.”

“Did Jon have a maester from the Eyrie with him?” Ned asks.

Pycelle looks at him as if he might be offended, but his voice is calm. “He did yes my lord hand. But that maester, Coleman I believe his name was, was faltering even when Lord Arryn was not ailing.”

Coleman, Ned remembers the man, he had been maester at the Eyrie, for a long time, perhaps when Jon became Lord of the Vale himself, but now this, this is interesting. “What do you mean by faltering?”

Pycelle seems to be considering his words very carefully here, and Ned wonders at that, but then when the man responds, all other thought flees from his mind. “Coleman was not as strong as he once was my lord hand. His hands would shake when he would talk and when he held things. He was not fit to serve as a maester, and when he fell before the day when Lord Arryn took ill, he never got back up again.”

Ned feels shocked at this news, Coleman had been old when Ned had known him, or at least he had seemed old, but he had never thought he was that old. “I see.” he says, unsure of just what else he can say. “That is worrying, was there anything unusual about his death?” Ned asks.

Pycelle shakes his head. “No, he had a heart failure and died there and then. The day before Lord Arryn fell ill.”

Ned nods then. “Very well, thank you very much for your time.” As he turns to leave, he hears Pycelle call out.

“My lord hand, I would be careful of where you go with this. There are people who do not want to be found, and they will do whatever it takes to not be found.” Pycelle says.

Ned looks at the man and merely nods, before turning and walking down the stairs, he does not really know what to make of all of this, it seems quite worrying to him, but once more he finds himself over his head. Gods above it is hard, this business of ruling, he wishes he could speak to Robert about this, but knowing his friend, the man would likely brush him off. He enters the tower of the hand, nodding at the guards stationed at the doors, and then he enters his room and takes a deep breath when he sees it there on the table, a golden piece of cloth there, just waiting for him to see it.


	7. Jon III

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

King’s Landing was big, very, very big, as it should be, it was the capital of the seven kingdoms, of a united Westeros, and it was the symbol of all that was good about the Targaryen conquest. There was grandeur and promise within it, and the Baratheon rule of the city had only seen that grow, already Jon had seen fetes and plays whilst within the city, and he had travelled through the city exploring things and seeing more and more. He was very happy to have come to King’s Landing, as for him it felt as though he was finally getting the chance to spread his wings, and to see the things that might otherwise have been denied to him. That his father had tried to prevent him from coming to King’s Landing angered him greatly, he wanted to know who his father thought he was to prevent Jon the chance to come and explore all these great things. His father, the thought angered Jon more and more with every passing day, his father was not the great man that he had grown up thinking him to be, no his father was a man who put far too much stock in duty and little in living. Jon could see that by how he spent little time with Jon or his sisters, and instead devoted almost every ounce of his time to the council and the fat oaf that was king. The king was not worth some much time in Jon’s opinion, and yet if he said such a thing to his father, his father might well reprimand him and refuse to do anything with him, and so Jon kept silent.

The conversation he and the prince as well as their friends had overheard at Darry had been something that had played on Jon’s mind quite a bit recently, he could not explain why but there was something about it that just seemed strange. The whole tone of that conversation seemed as though the people there were not afraid of being overheard, even though they were speaking about things that to Jon’s mind bordered on treason. He was not entirely sure what it was, but whatever the thought was that was floating through his mind it refused to go away. Of course, he was glad that he was not the only one who thought this, for the prince had summoned him and the rest of his retinue to meet with him and then they had traversed down to the crypts where the dragon skulls had been kept when King Robert had ascended the throne, keeping such things in the dark was a crime, and Jon was glad the others agreed. Now though attention was turning back to that conversation.

“The conversation we heard at Darry has been playing on my mind quite a bit over the past few days.” the prince says, his voice soft. “I do not know quite what it was that we heard, but I think that it is something that is most definitely worth considering and exploring in more detail. Lucas, what have you been able to find out?”

Lucas Blackwood, second in line to Raventree Hall and a good man speaks then. “I spoke with my father before we left from Darry, and he told me that Ser Raymun spent some time travelling the riverlands, the northern riverlands as it were when Jon Arryn was alive. It seems that the man was meeting with various nobles who had belonged to an order in the past.”

“Order?” Jon asks. “What order?”

Lucas looks at him and responds. “The Order of the Dragon. It seems that there was some sort of order developed during the reign of either King Aegon the Fifth, or before, that was devoted to ensuring the protection of the Targaryen family from threats both within and without the royal family.”

“Well it clearly didn’t do so well then did it?” Jon responds, earning a laugh from the group.

“Aye, that is true, and I think the reason for that was that the order fell into disrepute, or it began bickering with themselves. There was something that happened during the reign of King Jaehaerys that caused the order to fall about itself and argue.” Lucas responds.

“Which Jaehaerys?” the prince asks.

“The second one.” Lucas responds.

“He only reigned for three years though, and he was not much of a king, what could he have done or experienced that would have forced the order to fall in on itself?” Jon asks.

“The war of the ninepenny kings was during his reign. And he did not fight during that war. No he sent his Goodbrother Lord Ormund to command the army, and his son went as well. But whatever happened during his reign, it was enough to cause divisions during King Aerys reign.” Lucas responds looking hesitatingly at the prince.

“What happened then?” the prince asks. “You can speak freely Lucas.”

Lucas swallows then. “Your grandsire my prince. Lord Tywin was named hand of the king and it seems the order was destroyed in secret.”

“What do you mean?” the prince asks, his voice filled with curiosity.

“There were numerous arrests that were made during the early years of King Aerys’ reign, none of them are really recorded, but the people arrested were order members. It seems Lord Tywin played in his friend’s paranoia about the order, and had it destroyed.” Lucas says.

“So it was something the Lord of the Rock did to increase his own power?” Bryce asks sounding angry.

The prince looks at Bryce and then says. “It would seem so. We all know our history do we not? My grandsire became King Aerys right hand, he was as Orys was to the conqueror, but then their relationship soured for some reason or the other.” the prince looks at Lucas then. “So you think that whatever happened then, Darry is trying to bring the order back?”

Lucas nods. “Aye, I think so my prince. I think he is trying to do something of that nature, he rode out the same day we did from Darry with his son, and he would not say where he was going.”

Jon speaks then. “But then, is he not risking all, for something that might be a fabled dream? Viserys Targaryen is known as the beggar king for a reason. No sane person would want to support him, he has nothing to offer them, and he has not the means to add to his promises.”

“If he gets support within the realm, then there might be a chance that some outsiders might support him.” Lucas counters.

“But who would dare support the son of the mad king?” Jon argues. “The boy was known as showing some signs of his father’s madness before he fled, and besides, people still remember what the mad king did. Why else would there be so little attention paid to the dragons?”

“People have memories though, memories of what it was like before the rebellion.” Waymar says speaking for the first time.

“What do you mean by that?” the prince asks.

Waymar looks slightly nervous now, and then he swallows and says. “Begging your pardon my prince, but, there are some within the realm who believe things were better under the Targaryens than they are now. It is the view of old being better than the new that is all.”

Jon looks at the prince and sees him sigh. “Aye that is true, a shame that the people can be quite foolish. I have heard it told that the beggar king has sold his sister off to some Horselord, the Dothraki like fucking their own horses. I feel sorry for the girl really.”

“Do you think they will ever come to Westeros?” Tyrek asks.

“No,” Jon says instantly, some old knowledge from his lessons with maester Luwin coming to the fore in his head. “They are scared of the sea, they believe it is cursed or some backward nonsense.”

The prince speaks then. “Aye, it seems the beggar king has been swindled out of his own fortune there. He will never sit the throne, not for as long as his sister is married to a horsefucker. We had best put that thought behind us, still the thought of that conversation is a nagging worry.”

Jon looks at the prince and sees him stroking Ghost’s fur, Jon feels a strange tingling sensation run down him at that. “Why? Do you think it might mean something my prince?” he hears himself asking.

The prince looks at him then. “Everything no matter how small has some meaning or the other Jon, never forget that. There is something important happening here, and there was a reason for our discovering that conversation. I just do not know what it is yet.”

Jon nods, and then Lucas speaks. “Do you want me to keep looking my prince?”

The prince shakes his head. “No, not for the time being. We have gathered as much as we can know now. There is little more that can be done for the time being. Now, I hear that Margaery Tyrell is coming to court, for some function or the other. That should be quite fun eh?”

 “She’s blatantly coming to try and charm you my prince.” Tyrek responds smiling.

“Oh aye, she’s been after you for some time my prince. Ever since you saw her at the nameday tourney I think.” Waymar says.

Jon looks at the prince then and asks. “Isn’t she a few years older than you my prince?”

The prince nods. “Aye, around two or three I think. But it makes no matter, she wants to be queen, or at least that is what I have been led to believe. Of course, I am betrothed to your sister, therefore what she wants can never happen, but that does not mean I cannot have a bit of fun with her no?”

Jon feels slightly uncomfortable at that, he does not know why, but he has never appreciated the thought of having ‘fun’ with any woman who was not his wife, it just doesn’t seem right. But of course he would never say such a thing to the prince and so he merely nods. “Of course my prince.”

The prince fixes Jon with an appraising gaze, his hands still stroking Ghost’s fur, and Jon feels that tingling sensation grow within him. “You do not agree do you Jon?”

Jon does not know what to say so he remains silent, feeling the tingling sensation grow ever stronger. “How would you feel, if I told you that by doing what I am doing, I am ensuring the security of my family of us all?”

“I would want to know how you think so.” Jon responds his voice coming out strained.

The prince continues stroking Ghost. “Well, you see the Lady Margaery and her family are known for their scheming and plotting, and furthermore they want something, everyone always wants something from someone. Therefore, by flirting with her and playing with her emotions, I can find out what I need to ensure my family and my friends are protected. You see the Tyrells will stop at nothing to get what they want. You have heard of the bloody scourging have you not?”

“Yes.” Jon whispers.

“Well, the scourging was just the beginning of what the Tyrells are capable of doing, I cannot allow that to happen. You know what my father is, you know how careless he is. The Tyrells control my uncle Renly, someone must make sure that whatever it is they are planning, it is kept in check and controlled, otherwise there would be chaos, untold chaos within the realm. And chaos is bad, it is always bad, for death comes in chaos. Deaths of innocents, and you would not want that now would you?” the prince responds.

“No I would not.” Jon responds, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither do I.” the prince responds.


	8. Ned III

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The small council was filled with fools and flatterers of that Ned had no doubt. It seemed that over time the governance of the realm had become less of a concern of the council, and instead it had fallen into petty rivalries. Renly Baratheon, the young Lord of Storm’s End was a schemer, that much Ned knew, that he looked like Robert had done during his youth, was something that only worked in the young lord’s favour. The man was trying to achieve something or the other, what it was Ned did not know, but he knew that whatever it was, it could not be good, it really could not be good. Then there was Baelish, Ned did not trust the man, he really did not, he could not forget the words that Brandon had spoken to him about the man when they had met at Harrenhal. ‘The boy is trouble, he will be the death of us all if we let him live.’ That was what Brandon had said at Harrenhal and then nearly half a year later his brother had died in King’s Landing, Ned had never found out how his brother had learned of Lyanna’s disappearance, Ethan had never known or thought to ask, but his brother had died. Varys, Varys was the one person Ned thought he might be able to trust to some extent, but whether or not that was the right feeling was another thing. Then there was Pycelle, who was a Lannister man that sickened Ned, it really did.

Anger with Robert was an emotion he felt quite a lot nowadays. His friend was not as Ned remembered him, he had fallen by the wayside, in a major way. His friend, it seemed preferred to spend his days drinking and whoring than actually bothering to rule. No that was left for a council riven by division and strife, and Ned. Ned had not actually seen his friend since they had come to King’s Landing, and yet his friend was often heard carousing with various people around the red keep. It was an annoyance and it was something that was really beginning to bother him. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how Jon had managed to keep things going for as long as he had, because the gods knew that Robert would’ve been no help whatsoever. Jon, he missed his friend, the man who had been his foster father for as long as he could remember, the man who was dead, had died looking into something. Lysa’s letter claimed that the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn, whether or not they had, Ned did not know but he knew he had to look into it, he could not live with himself if he did not.

That was why he was here now, speaking to Ser Hugh of the Vale, Jon Arryn’s squire, or rather former squire. The man was confident and arrogant, reminding Ned of Elbert Arryn, and he wondered if the two might be related, knowing Elbert that would not surprise him. He takes a deep breath and then says. “So you were Lord Arryn’s squire for around eight years correct?”

The man nods. “Aye my lord hand I was.”

“And what did you do for Lord Arryn, as his squire?” Ned asks.

The man looks at him curiously. “Well I did what any normal squire would do. I helped him with his armour on the occasions where he would come to the yard to spar, and I carried his messages for him. I ran errands for him when he asked me to.”

Ned nods and then asks. “And why were you chosen to become his squire? Do you know why?”

The man’s face contorts as he concentrates, it is not a pretty sight, and Ned is increasingly reminded of Elbert. “Well, I think it was because Lord Arryn was close to my mother. I know that he often came to see me when I was a child, and then the next thing I knew I was squiring for him.”

Now that is news to Ned. “So he knew your mother? Do you know how he came to know your mother?”

The man thinks once more and then responds. “I do not know that my lord hand no. All I know is that from the time I was a babe, Lord Arryn would come to see me, to make sure I was okay, and that my mother wanted for nothing.”

An interesting thought that, Elbert might have had bastards around the Vale, but why would Jon continue to pay attention to them after the fact? Unless, there was more to this. “And what about your father? Where was he?”

At this Ser Hugh seems to go silent, as if deep in thought, or mourning. Eventually he says. “I do not know, he died when I was barely a babe. He died long ago. My mother never spoke of him.”

“And what of Lord Arryn, did he ever speak of him? Did you ever ask him about your father?” Ned asks.

Once more the boy looks at him oddly and then says. “No, he never said anything about my father and I did not think to ask. Why bring up the memories of the dead, if you never knew them. Lord Arryn was as good a father to me as any man could have been. I did not want a ghost there.”

 _A very courageous thing for a man to say, Jon most likely would disagree with him._ Ned thinks sadly, aloud he says. “Very well then Hugh. Now, did you go anywhere with Lord Arryn before he died?”

The knight concentrates hard then, his face contorting into an unpleasant image. Eventually he says. “Aye, we travelled around the city a fair bit before my lord Arryn died. We went to Tobho Mott’s forge, as well as to some place known as the Old Thistle.”

“Why did you go to those places do you know?” Ned asks.

“Lord Arryn wanted to see someone at the forge, a boy I think. And at the Old Thistle, well I do not know, it was not like my lord of Arryn to go to such places, but he went there.” Hugh responds.

“What sort of place is the Old Thistle?” Ned asks curious.

Ser Hugh looks at him oddly then. “I…well, it is a brothel, but it is also something else. It is a place where those with odd desires go to, you know get them sated.”

As the understanding of what that place is dawns on him, he feels a sense of horror. “And did Lord Arryn ever go there for that reason?” Ned asks.

The knight shakes his head most fervently. “No my lord hand never. He went there to speak with someone.”

“Who?” Ned asks.

“I do not know who exactly, but from what I can gather, he spoke to a woman with black hair and then another with blond hair. Always those two and he always came back looking worried.” Hugh responds.

Ned looks at the knight, a sense of worry filling him then, though he cannot completely explain it. Finally he nods and says. “Okay, thank you very much Ser Hugh you may leave now.” the knight bows and turns and walks out of the room. Ned watches him leave, more questions in his head than answers, he wonders at what it was that made Jon Arryn go to those two places, well he thinks he knows why he went to Tobho Mott’s forge, but going to the Old Thistle, he does not understand that.

A knock on the door takes him from that thought. “Come in.” he calls, and he finds himself looking at Jory Cassel, the captain of his guard. “What is it Jory?” he asks.

Jory takes a moment before speaking. “I have done as you asked my lord, and have looked into Ser Hugh as well as some others that were part of Lord Arryn’s retinue.”

“And what have you found?” Ned asks.

“Shortly before Lord Arryn took ill, he paid a visit to Lord Stannis, at the man’s manor house, and they spoke for some time, and then that night, Ser Hugh paid a visit to the man and handed him two things. One was a bag of gold and the other was a letter.” Jory responds.

“Why would he hand the master of ships a bag of gold and a letter?” Ned asks.

Jory shrugs. “I do not know my lord, but what I do know is that, the day Lord Arryn fell ill, another person came to see Lord Stannis, this one was also from Lord Arryn’s retinue, and this time they did not give him anything, but instead spent time within his manor and then came out some hours later.”

Ned looks at the man and then asks. “How did you come to know this?”

“There were people who saw them my lord. That is how.” Jory responds.

Ned nods, not needing to say aloud what he is thinking. He looks at Jory and then asks. “What do you know of Tobho Mott?”

“I know that he comes from Qohor, and that he claims to know how to rework Valyrian steel. Other than that I do not know much about him, why my lord?” Jory asks.

Ned thinks long and hard about what he wishes to say, eventually he says. “There is a child there that Lord Arryn was interested in, I want you to go to Tobho Mott’s forge on the morrow and see what this child looks like and what Mott is willing to say about him and his work. But do not say where you are coming from unless asked.”

“Shall I take men with me?” Jory asks.

“No, go yourself, we do not want to raise suspicion.” Ned responds.

Jory nods. “Is there anything else my lord?”

“No, you may go.” Ned says. The man bows and then turns and leaves.

Ned finds himself alone in his room, his thoughts drifting toward Winterfell, he wonders how Cat and the boys are doing. He feels bad for having left them, but he has done what he has needed to do. He has to make the kingdoms safe, he needs to find out who killed Jon Arryn and he needs to help Robert, it is his duty, and he has never shirked his duty before, never. He will not start now, he finds himself wondering what happened to Bran the day he fell, his son never falls, never, the fact that he fell is in itself worrying. Ned has not forgotten that the Kingslayer did not come on the hunt that day, deciding instead to spend that time with his sister, the Queen. Ned had wondered at that then, but then dismissed it, now he wonders if perhaps he was wrong to do so. He sighs then, rubbing his temples, gods there is so much going on here within the shadows, and he knows it is, he just does not know how to deal with it all. He feels as if he is sinking within the weight of all the things that are happening, and he does not know how to prevent that from happening. He feels lost, and by the gods he wants to come to the light, he just does not know what that is.

Eventually when it becomes too much for him, just sitting there, he stands up, and paces across his room, pacing and pacing, and then he goes to the book case, where he takes up a book by random, and opens it up at one page, and reads. _In days of old, it was customary for the High Monk to put himself before the foot of the throne and beg for the emperor to give life to the sun. For it was believed that the emperor as the representative of the gods on the world could make the sun come to life. Many died for this reason, and many fell before the uprising happened. And then, the world turned red with blood._

He closes the book then and places it back on the shelf, before walking toward the window, looking out he sees a figure walking, the figure is hooded, but walks slowly as if held back by age, there is a slight limp in the person’s walk. He watches as this person walks and then disappears, he blinks but cannot see where the person went. Just as he is about to dismiss it, the figure appears again, this time near the foot of the tower, and Ned swears the figure looks up at him then.


	9. Pycelle I

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Grand Maester Pycelle**

For forty years he had lived and served in King’s Landing, under four kings he had lived and served in his role as Grand Maester, and the four kings he had served could not have been more different from one another. King Aegon, had been a kind man, charitable and good natured, but by the time Pycelle had come to serve him, the king had been old and tired, the years of dealing with disobedient vassals having taken most of his good will from him. Pycelle knew what Summerhall had been, some thought it had been the last gasps of a desperate man, but Pycelle knew that the king had organised Summerhall as a show of strength, he knew that those things would have been brought to life, and of course the fools at the citadel had decided to get involved and so the king and his eldest son and heir had died in those flames. That had left the king’s weak second son Jaehaerys to come to the throne, now Jaehaerys did not seem to share his father’s enthusiasm for change, and indeed seemed to want to revert back to the old ways, his insistence on marrying his son to his daughter was something that Pycelle found odd and disturbing. That king was ruled by his wife, as much as by his own leanings toward the books. That the Blackfyres had chosen his reign to come and invade one last time, had spared the king the dishonour of being removed from the throne. He had died and then Aerys had come to the throne. Aerys, had had a lot of promise in the beginning but then the loss of children had slowly eaten away at his mind and his sanity, and then the rebellion had happened. King Robert was a lazy king who did nothing but eat and drink it was not a good thing.

Eddard Stark had come to King’s Landing because his friend had asked him to come, and yet Pycelle was beginning to suspect that Stark was wanting to head off home, that there was nothing here that he could really do. That was the feeling that Pycelle had gotten from the man during the council meetings, and it was quite the surprise. Pycelle remembered Rickard Stark, and that man had not been a coward, he had had stood his ground on any matter that he thought worth fighting for. His son did not have the spine for that, and Pycelle wondered if that was because of Jon Arryn. Arryn had had a hand in undermining the king as well, that much Pycelle knew. He was not that sad to see Arryn gone, but Stark, Stark could be useful for what he and the Queen were planning that much he knew. Of course the fact that Stark was asking questions was somewhat worrying. As he looks at the Queen now, he sees her worry etched clearly onto her face, she thinks she is her father without the bits below, but really she is not, she never has been and never will be. She was just a girl who was trying to play a game that had been going on for far longer than she had been alive, but she would never win at it, because she could not.

“He asked you about Arryn and his maester?” the queen asks.

“Yes my queen. He wanted to know how sudden Arryn’s illness came about, and whether or not there might have been anything suspicious about it.” Pycelle responds.

“And what did you tell him?” the queen asks.

“I told him the truth my queen. Or the truth as I know it. Arryn fell ill suddenly, but once he did fall ill, he did not recover. I tried all I could to save him, but nothing I tried did anything of use for him.” Pycelle responds.

The Queen looks at him then, her eyes narrowed. Pycelle knows she thinks him a dithering old fool, and that is where she fails, her father let alone her mother would never think to underestimate him like this. “And he actually bought that? He truly believes that Arryn’s death was natural?”

 _Stark is not as great a fool as you are my queen._ Pycelle thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “I do not think he was entirely convinced of that my Queen. He asked me about Arryn’s maester Coleman, and whether or not that man had anything to do with helping Arryn.”

“And?” The Queen asks. “What did you tell him? Did you say what we agreed upon?”

There is desperation in her voice, and Pycelle wonders at that, but then pushes that thought from his mind responding. “Aye I did. Coleman was ailing anyway, there is not a chance he could have helped Arryn. That I know Stark believes, because he wants something rational to use for why Arryn died.”

“So he will not think to go looking for the things we have hidden?” The queen asks.

Pycelle shakes his head. “He has no reason to go looking for them, therefore he will not know what to look for anyway. He is walking down the alleyway that we have set for him, as well as the one that his goodsister has set for him.”

“Do you think he will come to realise that?” The queen asks.

“He might do in time, but when he does come to realise it, it will be too late. There will not be a chance for him to continue growing unless he wishes to grow shorter by a head.” Pycelle responds.

“Good, that is good.” The Queen responds. “What of the council, what have they been telling him?”

“That he should remove Slynt from the commander’s role in the city watch.” Pycelle says.

“And who did you suggest as a replacement?” The Queen asks.

“Jacelyn Bywater.” Pycelle responds.

“Next time he asks, you shall suggest Donnel do you understand?” The queen asks.

 _Why so you can fuck him as well?_ Pycelle wonders to himself, before nodding. “Yes my queen.”

There is a moment’s silence and then the Queen speaks once more. “Stark is straying too close to things he should not know about. How has he come to know about them?”

Pycelle thinks on this a moment and then responds. “Baelish is most likely aiding him, after all the man has always had a sweet spot for Stark’s wife.”

The Queen looks at him then and asks. “Do you think Baelish is trying to undermine our position? That he seeks to gain more power through leveraging us?”

Pycelle looks at the Queen and then responds. “He might well be trying, the man has no qualms about doing such a thing, however, and I do not think he will be successful.”

“Why do you think that?” The Queen asks sharply.

 _You really are slow aren’t you my queen?_ Pycelle thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “Baelish has a tendency to over exert himself when there is something he desperately wants. Look at how he exerted himself to get the position of customs master from old Velaryon before the year was out. Look how he exposed himself to Arryn’s scrutiny when he first came here. He has something to prove to himself and thus to us all as well, and as he tries, he leaves openings for others to exploit him. Stark is not one who will trust him, but there are things Baelish can say to Stark that might well make him think about it.”

“And what are those things?” The Queen asks.

“The fact he was friends with Stark’s wife, and that she undoubtedly trusts him still.” Pycelle responds.

“Then she is a fool as is he. Baelish is a snake, and he will soon run out of use for us, and when the time comes he shall fall, far and fast.” The Queen says emphatically.

Pycelle looks at the queen, sees the expression on her face as one of determination and he remembers her mother then, and the same words that she had said before she had gone. He sighs quietly and then aloud says. “You might want to tread carefully there my queen. You have spies, but so does Baelish, and he has had time to play the game which we do not know about.”

The Queen looks at him sceptically. “It cannot be an unknown game if you know about it now can it?”

Pycelle bows his head. “As you say my queen.”

The Queen looks at him and then says. “You may leave now. And say not a word of this to anyone.”

“Of course my Queen.” Pycelle responds, he bows and then turns and walks out of the room. As he walks, he thinks to himself, the Queen is so confident in her ability to emerge from this thing unscathed, of course she thinks that, she has never found a foe she has not been able to defeat, either because of her name, who her father was or because Pycelle had them removed. Stark will be more difficult, he thinks, he fears it. Stark has too much honour and not enough sense, he will go looking toward something that he should not, and then they might all be in trouble. A troubling thought that, and one that keeps him occupied as he walks back to his own rooms in the rookery, he thinks of all the places that Stark could go looking and he decides he will send men out to deal with those who might talk. He eventually gets to his own bed chamber, panting slightly, and opens the door, to find a hooded figure there waiting.

Pycelle looks at the figure and then asks. “What have you come for? I told you it would take some time, before things were in order.”

The figure is silent a moment and then it speaks. “You are running out of time Pycelle. The time is coming for action to be taken, the waiting is almost over. Deliver or you shall suffer.”

“Yes, yes I know about that. I know what the master might well do if I do not deliver. And I tell you, I need more time.” Pycelle responds.

The figure sounds angry then, though Pycelle cannot see their face. “You have had more than enough time for this to be prepared and ready. How much more time do you need?”

“I need another moon, no more. I promise you it will be ready by then, and then the master might do what needs to be done.” Pycelle responds.

The figure moves toward him then, and Pycelle finds himself quivering a little. “Do not play me for a fool Pycelle. Remember, I know all that there is to know about you, and the master knows more. Make a false move and you shall be shamed in a fate worse than death.”

Pycelle stiffens then and responds. “I do not take well to threats. The master knows that, after what happened to the last fool who tried to threaten me.”

The figure laughs then, a great booming sound. “I am no fool Pycelle, and neither are you. I can make things happen that would make what happened to your father look tame. Do not try my patience, make it happen. You have one moon, no more, no less.”

“Very well.” Pycelle responds, and then in a blink of an eye the figure is gone. Pycelle is left feeling shaken. Things must be getting quite desperate if the master had to send that figure here. Pycelle sighs, cursing his younger self for making that agreement, it seems it might well come back to haunt him. He has already lost so much to the cause, he is not sure how much more he might be able to take.

There is a knock on the door, and as he opens it, he finds himself looking at Ros and he asks her. “What have you found?”

“Stark is meeting with his wife.” Ros responds.

“Where?” Pycelle asks.

“Baelish’s brothel.” She responds.

 


	10. Tyrek I

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrek Lannister**

His father had died when he was a child, a babe, from a pox, where that pox had come from Tyrek did not know, considering his mother had always told him that his father did not like whores- something to do with his grandsire, Tytos Lannister and a whore- and as such she had always wondered where he had caught the disease. Tyrek had grown up wondering if perhaps his uncle Tywin had had something to do with it, after all, he knew from speaking to Tyrion as well as to Aunt Genna that his father and uncle Tywin did not get along that well. But then, he knew Lord Tywin was obsessed with his legacy, therefore the thought of him killing his brother did not make sense, and he had not really thought about it since then. He had found a family with the prince’s retinue. Prince Joffrey was his cousin, and though Joffrey was younger than him, in some ways the prince seemed older, because he was more confident, was more assured of who he was and what he was. Tyrek had always been close to Joffrey in some shape or form, his cousin was like a brother to him. Bryce Storm the bastard of Mistwood, had come next to their little group, and had become a brother to Tyrek as well, then had come Horas and Hobber Redwyne, who were slower than the average people, but they were useful, and then there was Waymar who had come. Tyrek liked Waymar, though he was a funny lad, and someone to be trusted. Lucas Blackwood was someone Tyrek was not sure of, there was something about him that did not quite ring true. Then there was Jon Snow, and him, well Tyrek was interested by Ned Stark’s bastard.

The Tourney of the Hand had been relatively interesting, a fine display, on a par with the prince’s nameday tourney. Men had come from all around the seven kingdoms including one Ser Theodore Wells from the north-that was something interesting- and it had been a fine show of pageantry and display. Ser Loras Tyrell had won the jousting, and had been spared a death at the hands of the mountain thanks to Joffrey’s dog. The Tyrell family had come out in fine form to King’s Landing, just as Joffrey had said they would, and the Lady Margaery had come as well, looking beautiful as always. Tyrek did not know what it was about her, but there was something there that enchanted him. Of course she did not pay attention to him, she wanted only to spend time with the prince, and really, Tyrek could not blame her, but he could not help but feel a small bit of jealousy, he was a boy after all. The tourney was done though, and Ser Hugh of the Vale had gone, he had not competed in the tourney, but had disappeared from King’s Landing, Waymar claimed he had been sent back to the Vale by Lord Stark, but that did not make sense, at least not to Tyrek, however, it seemed the prince had other ideas.

“Baelish has to be behind Ser Hugh disappearing off to wherever it is he has gone. There is no other explanation for it.” the prince says.

Tyrek looks at his cousin and asks. “What makes you think that my prince?”

The Prince is silent a moment and then responds. “Well we know that Baelish was and is likely still close to Lysa Arryn, and furthermore, Ser Hugh served as Lord Arryn’s squire. No doubt the woman wants her husband’s squire back in the Vale, so he can’t reveal something or the other to Stark.”

“You do not think that there was something there that Lysa Arryn would want to hide?” Tyrek asks.

His cousin looks at him and then they both burst out laughing. “Lysa Arryn was more unfaithful to her husband than my father has ever been to my mother. She was not discreet either, at least for those who know how to look. It was obvious for those who wished to see, that she and Baelish were carrying on. No doubt she wanted any person who could say such a thing gone. A shame then that Ser Hugh did not compete in the tourney.”

Tyrek thinks on this a moment and then says. “It seems Baelish panicked too soon then if that was the case. He should have waited for the tourney and then Ser Gregor would have taken care of him. He was in an odd mood during the tourney did you see?”

“I did.” the prince responds, looking at Sandor Clegane then. “Why was that Sandor? What got your brother’s blood up?”

The Hound is silent a moment as if thinking and then responds. “I do not know. It does not take much to get his blood up. All he needs is a sword in his hand and he stops thinking. Not that he does any thinking whatsoever anyway.”

Tyrek laughs as does the prince. “Aye, but then that scene he made with Ser Loras, I think my grandsire’s favourite dog is slipping. He could have worsened the situation instead of improving it.”

“Do you think he would have actually killed the boy?” Tyrek asks.

“I have no doubt about that.” the prince responds. “Gregor Clegane does not like losing, we can see that through all of his actions throughout his life. That he was defeated, well that might well have simply angered him more.”

“That would certainly have angered the Tyrells.” Tyrek muses. “Perhaps it would have been a good thing if that had happened no? Then Tywin would be in the hot water.”

His cousin laughs. “Aye, perhaps, though it might not have done more than started another border war. The last one between the Westerlands and the Reach ended with my grandfather buying of Luthor Tyrell. Or killing him depending on who you speak to.”

At this Horas Redwyne speaks, his words slow. “Do you think that is true?”

“What? That Luthor Tyrell was killed or bribed off?” the prince responds.

“Killed.” Horas says.

“I would not put it past my grandfather. But that is beside the point, we must make sure that no such future incidents occur between the two houses. What have you learned of their plans?” the prince asks.

Horas seems to be considering his answer when Hobber responds. “I think that Lord Mace wants to make some sort of proposal to your father the king, my prince. It seems that is the talk of their family.”

Tyrek looks at his cousin and then the prince says. “No doubt it will be to see Myrcella married off to Willas Tyrell.”

“Aye, I think that might be what it is.” Hobber says.

Tyrek looks at his cousin who nods. “What about Jon? Would the Tyrells take an interest in him?”

Horas speaks then. “I do not think so. To them he is just a bastard, they do not see the potential in him that you do, my prince. They are narrow minded with their thinking and it will cost them.”

Tyrek looks at the prince and sees how he seems to be considering this. “The Florents will begin playing up soon enough then. What with my uncle Stannis having fled like a coward back to Dragonstone. Something is being cooked there, and it is not clear what it might be.”

A thought that has been nagging Tyrek for some time comes to the forefront of his mind then. “Why do you think he fled? Stannis I mean. Just after Lord Arryn was declared dead as well, and when the court went north. That makes him look guilty does it not? I did not think the man was stupid.”

His cousin laughs then. “Oh, Lord Stannis has always been a bit slow I think. He failed to realise why he had been given Dragonstone and command of the royal fleet until the Greyjoy rebellion happened. And he failed to understand why my uncle Renly was named Lord of Storm’s End. He most certainly did not think through what he was doing when he fled to Dragonstone. It is almost as if he is guilty.”

Tyrek looks at his cousin and asks. “Do you think he did it then? Killed Lord Arryn? If so why?”

His cousin looks at him intently, and then responds. “I think they were doing something, whatever it was, once Lord Arryn was dead, Stannis was scared enough to flee. And I think that in itself is enough to cast doubt over why he fled.”

Tyrek ponders this, as Ser Waymar speaks. “I think they were doing something quite suspicious. After all we know that Ser Hugh went to see Stannis in his manor and paid him with a bag of gold. What else could that be used for unless it was to buy his silence. Whatever it was they were doing, Arryn didn’t want Stannis talking about it.”

“But was it a bribe, or was it payment for services rendered?” Tyrek asks. “After all, we know Stannis is a bitter man and that something changed within him following the death of his son.”

“What services could that fool possibly render to the hand of the king? The second most powerful man in the realm, who had every service available to him if he just asked. No, there was a bribe made there.” Waymar says.

The prince speaks then. “It might have been a case of both things. We know from Pycelle that they were looking into something, and then Arryn fell ill, though before that his maester died. So there is that, and then when the court was in Winterfell he fled. Why wait until the court and my father had left the capital, before fleeing, unless there was something he did not want found when we came back?”

Horas speaks then. “What could it be though? What could have made him do what he did?”

Tyrek looks at his cousin then, they both know what might have made the Lord of Dragonstone do as he did, but neither of them will admit that to their group. And so there is silence for a time, until Bryce speaks. “What do you think has happened in Darry since we left?”

“No doubt Ser Raymun has come back from his travels, with renewed confidence that his failed order will come back to life. You know what he is like, he is someone who will never admit defeat, even when it is slapping him in the face. Sooner or later he will come to realise that, but it will be too late for him.” the prince responds.

“You think that was what he was doing then?” Tyrek asks his cousin intrigued.

“Aye, what else would prompt him to leave the same time as the royal party? A traitor will always move around suspiciously. And this time it seems that there is something quite suspicious about his movements. No, there is more to what he is doing, and I think it is to do with what we heard at Darry.” the prince says.

“Do you think the girl heard anything?” Horas asks.

“What girl?” the prince asks.

“You mean Arya Stark? Jon’s sister?” Tyrek asks.

“Aye, she was there, I swear I saw her wandering off toward the stones one day as well.” Horas responds.

Tyrek looks at the prince then and sees that there is a look of disgust there. “Aye she might well have done knowing her.”

There is a knock on the door then, and Ser Preston Greenfield says. “It is Lucas Blackwood and Jon Snow my prince.”

“Let them in.” the prince says.

The door opens and both boys walk, followed by Jon’s direwolf Ghost, a towering beast that one, all white and red. They bow before the prince before sitting down in the seats provided for them. There is a moment’s silence and then Jon speaks. “I think I might have learned something very interesting my prince.”

“And what is that?” the prince asks.

“I think I know where Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn went to before Lord Arryn died.” Jon responds. “It is called the Old Thistle.”


	11. Ned IV

****

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The tourney of the hand had been an event the like of which Ned was quite convinced he’d like to forget. There had been so much pageantry and falseness about the tourney that he had been quite convinced he was going to throw up from anger. He had never understood why southerners liked tourneys so much, had never understood the fascination behind getting on a horse and jousting-or as he called it, hitting people with sticks- he much preferred fighting, and even then only when war came about. Of course that had never gone over well with Robert or Brandon, both his friend and his brother telling him he needed to become more exciting, that no one would ever want to be friends with him if he remained boring, and so he had pretended to take an interest in it, but it had never really clicked for him. Ser Loras had won the tourney, and Sandor Clegane had nearly killed his brother the mountain, apart from that nothing of interest had really happened. Ser Hugh of the Vale had left King’s Landing, before Ned had had a chance to speak with him, and Ned did not know who had asked for him to leave. He sincerely doubted that it was Lady Lysa, for as far as he knew his goodsister was still somewhat mad, brewing in the eyrie about all the supposed wrongs done to her. It seemed that that was one thing that was going to continue evading him.

At least one thing was slightly clearer though. Cat had come to King’s Landing, and that had been a huge surprise. She had come with a dagger, the dagger that had been used to try and kill their son, to kill Bran, he had looked at that dagger and felt anger stir within him, so much anger. He did not know why someone would want to have his son killed, and then he had remembered Bran’s fall and the fact that his son never fell, never, and he had begun wondering. Baelish, a man Ned did not really know what to make of, had said that that dagger had been his, but then he had lost it in a bet with Tyrion Lannister. Ned was not sure about that, he did not know why the dwarf would bet against his own brother, but Cat seemed to think it might make sense because of how odd it was. It was either him or it was the Queen, and Ned knew what might happen if they accused the queen before having enough evidence for it. And so, he had agreed with his wife, they needed to find out more, and the only way they could do that was to have help from Baelish-as little as Ned liked that- and for Cat to return to the north. Much and more was happening now, things were beginning to grow warmer and Ned was not sure whether or not he liked that.

Just now though, he looked at Jory, the captain of his household guard and spoke. “You have been to Tobho Mott’s forge then have you Jory?”

“I have my lord.” the man responds.

“And what have you found out?” Ned asks.

There is a moment’s silence and then the man responds. “Tobho Mott is a skilled blacksmith and a man who likes to drink. The more he drank the more he talked. It seems that he came not from Qohor but from Volantis, and even then his origins were a bit blurred, it seems he spent a lot of time working within the forges of the old blood behind the black wall, and it was there that he learned how to forge and craft through Valyrian Steel. He made a lot of offers to make things for you my lord. As well as to reveal some secret or the other, he said he thought you would find most interesting.”

Ned quirks an eyebrow at this and asks. “Did you find out what secret that was?”

Jory shakes his head. “Unfortunately I did not my lord. He refused to speak to me of it, saying that he would only talk to you about the thing that he knew you wished to know.”

Ned sighs then. “And what of the other thing? What of the boy? Did he speak about him? Or do you think that was the thing he meant?”

Jory smiles wryly then. “Oh, he spoke about the boy. Said he was called Gendry, and that he had been raised within the forge’s walls for some time. That before that, the boy had grown up within King’s Landing, in a small little house that it seemed the king had paid for.”

“The king paid for this house?” Ned asks.

“That is what Tobho Mott said. Said that a hooded man had come one day and paid a very big sum of money to ensure that Mott took the boy on as an apprentice. And he said that once every five moons or so that same hooded figure would come to the forge to check on the boy, and make a payment.” Jory responds.

“What does this boy look like?” Ned asks, his curiosity growing.

There is a moment’s silence and then Jory responds. “He is tall, muscular, and has black hair and blue eyes my lord.”

Ned closes his eyes then. “Robert’s bastard.”

“I would think so my lord. He looks just like how the king did when he was young.” Jory responds.

“And did Tobho Mott say whether or not Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon had come to visit him?” Ned asks.

“He did my lord. It seems they came twice, once together, and once separately. Asking about the boy and his mother and who it was who made the payments.” Jory responds.

Ned closes his eyes for a moment, trying to process all of this and then he asks. “Did you find out what colour hair the boy’s mother had?”

“Blond my lord.” Jory responds.

Ned closes his eyes then, certain things falling into place, certain memories falling into place as well. He looks at Jory and nods. “Very well, thank you for doing this Jory. You are dismissed.”

The man bows and then stands and turns and walks out of the room, leaving Ned to think and ponder. Much and more happened during the final days of the rebellion, there were lies, and arguments had by both himself and Robert and with Jon Arryn as well, there were times when Ned thought their friendship was going to fall apart, let alone their alliance. The sack of King’s Landing, had done a lot to ruin his impression of his two friends, finding Ethan in the black cells as well, had done something more to him. He had felt as if he had betrayed all that he had stood for, as well been betrayed by those he had once held dear. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, and he had not been quite sure whether or not he was ready for the things that would come from knowing what he had learned. He had buried it deep within his own mind and had not thought about it, had refused to think about it, deciding to live life not as if there were ghosts chasing him, when there really were. Ned moves to the window then, and sees the bustling of the city below him, as well as the bustling of the keep, he does not know what is happening, nor whether things are changing now, but he has a feeling old ghosts might come back.

A knock on the door draws him from his thoughts, he calls for whoever it is to come in and finds himself looking at Grand Maester Pycelle. The old man looks old and worn, and Ned is quite surprised to find him here. “Maester Pycelle, what might I do for you?” Ned asks.

The man takes a moment to catch his breath before responding. “Might I take a seat my lord hand?” Pycelle asks.

“Of course, please do sit down.” Ned says gesturing at the seat before the man, when the man sits down, Ned does so as well. He looks at the man and then asks once more. “What might I do for you Grand Maester?”

The man takes a moment to collect his thoughts and then he speaks. “You must forgive me for interrupting your peace at this hour my lord hand, but I would not have come had I thought it urgent.”

“There is nothing to apologise for maester Pycelle. Now what is it that you wished to speak with me about?” Ned asks, his impatience growing slightly.

The old man before him nods. “Ah yes. Well, you see I have noticed that you have begun speaking more frequently with Lord Baelish outside of council meetings.”

“Aye, what of it?” Ned asks cautiously.

“If you might forgive me for saying this, but I do find that highly unusual. After all, Lord Baelish has made no secret of his dislike for you and your brother as well as your wider family, my lord hand. And as such, to see you two working together is quite unusual.” Pycelle responds.

Ned snorts then. “In this place, one must make use of allies where they come, would you not agree?

The maester nods. “Indeed I would, though I would urge some level of caution when dealing with Lord Baelish. He might have promised to aid you in whatever it is you do, because of his friendship with your wife, but I would not take him seriously at that.”

Ned looks at the man then curiosity growing. “What do you mean by that?”

The old man swallows nervously and then says. “What I mean, my lord hand, is that Baelish is a man who plays this game of thrones only for himself. He cares not about anyone or anything. He might claim to care for your wife, but I would tread carefully, he might well be plotting something or the other that might make you wish to revert from your course of action.”

Ned considers this and then says. “Whilst I appreciate the advice maester Pycelle, you would forgive me for being slightly sceptical as to the purity of your intentions. Baelish is a snake that much I know, but to me, he seems to be a snake that I can use for my own advantage. Whereas, you, you are more akin to the Lannisters, working for them at every step. I do not know whether I can trust your advice.”

Anyone else might have looked offended at that, but not Pycelle, instead the man merely laughs. “I see you are learning. That is good, very good my lord. You are going to need to keep learning, if you are to survive. But believe me when I say that Baelish is not to be trusted, not at all.”

Ned looks at the man. “And how do I know that what you say can be trusted? Yes, you might be doing this out of the kindness of your heart, but I do not know that. You have laid your allegiance in the ground for all to see. Baelish has not, and there is of course as you say whatever affection he might have for my wife. I’d be a fool not to use that to my advantage.”

Pycelle looks at him then, simply looks at him for a long moment, and as the silence grows, Ned begins shifting around, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Eventually, the man speaks. “You asked me once, what made a man do what he did. Do you remember my lord hand?”

Ned nods. “Aye I do.”

“I could not answer you then, but I can answer you now.” The man responds, taking out a piece of paper from his sleeves and placing it on the table before Ned. Ned looks at the paper and feels something hit him in the gut. He recognises that writing. “That right there, is why I am doing this. A promise made long ago. Do not spurn my advice my lord hand, do not trust Petyr Baelish.” With that the old man turns and walks out of the room, leaving Ned to stare at the piece of paper with his mother’s writing on it.


	12. Jon IV

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The tourney of the hand was over, it had been over for some time, and Jon missed it, he missed the spectacle of it all, and seeing all the knights competing for the royal favour, it had been like nothing he had ever seen before. To him it was good, if not better than anything he had ever seen at Winterfell, and he was happy he had been there to see it. Not for the first time, he could not understand his father’s reluctance to allow him to come to King’s Landing, nothing bad had happened to him here, indeed, he had found friends, friends where he had thought there would only be loneliness, it was something new for him, and he resented his father for trying to prevent him from coming. His father who never spent any time with him, who only saw him and did not hear him. His father who was so preoccupied with something or the other that he seemed to have forgotten he had children, yes, Jon was well glad that he did not know his father now.  It seemed that was a feeling that both his sisters shared. He had spoken to both Arya and Sansa about it, and they both agreed that father was spending far too much time doing other things, he seemed not to care about them. Arya especially felt that father was ignoring her, and that despite giving her dancing lessons-which he was beginning to think were not dancing lessons at all- he seemed not to be paying her any attention especially. He knew that hurt her, and he felt angry for her. Sansa, well Sansa seemed more concerned with making a good impression with the prince, and despite his reassurances that she was doing just fine. She though did think that father was immersed in something, far too immersed it was worrying.

However, he was with the prince and his companions now, and there was not a place for his musings on his father. He looked at the prince and asks. “My prince, if I might say something? I think I might have found something that could be of use to us for our search.”

The prince looks at him and then says. “Go on Jon, what is it that you have found?”

Jon takes a moment and then says. “Well, with regards to the Old Thistle, I know that for around five moons, Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon went there around six times every week, and as such always saw the same two people, a blond woman and a black haired woman, and they always stayed to speak to them for around thirty minutes. They would then remove themselves from the place, or rather Lord Stannis did, Lord Arryn, seemed to remain there for some time.”

The prince looks at him intrigued, his hand on Ghost’s head. “Do go on.”

Jon takes a moment and then goes on. “It seems, from what I have been able to find out, that Lord Arryn owned the Old Thistle, and that he would spend a lot of time there, in fact I do believe that he had a tunnel installed to make it easier for him to get there. It seems that he used the Old Thistle to turn things into dust as it were.”

“What do you mean into dust?” the prince asks.

“By dust I mean he would turn the poppy into dust, the same poppy used for milk of the poppy. It seems he would send it out to the Reach as well as to the Riverlands.” Jon says.

“Why would he sell such a thing? Considering its dangerous properties.” Tyrek asks.

“Well there is a big market out there for it.” Jon responds. “From what I have gathered, it seems that Jon Arryn was quite invested in this trade, a way to make money on his own front, without having to rely on the cumbersome legal process that being hand of the king would bring.”

The prince looks intrigued by this and asks. “And where has this sale gone now? Do you know?” his hand stroking Ghost’s head.

Jon bites his lip then. “I am not sure my prince, I am sorry. I do know that the trail has gone cold somewhere following Jon Arryn’s death. It does explain why he might have been killed though, such a hand within the trade would be quite profitable.”

The prince looks at him intently, his hands stroking Ghost’s head, Jon feels his breath coming out much quickly. “Interesting, and I think Baelish might well be the one to have done such a thing. After all we all know that he has been doing something or the other to make money beyond his means. After all, the man has more houses within the city than a man of his station should have.”

“Of course my prince,” Jon responds his voice sounding thick to his own ears. “The man who Lord Arryn got his source from, is a man named Qyburn. It seems he is a disgraced maester, who had his chain removed for doing some things that break their code.”

“I was not aware the maesters had a code. I thought they were only grey rats meant to serve and destroy.” Lucas japes.

There is a pearl of laughter then, and Jon grins, though he feels as if he is running, he looks at the prince and sees the man stroking Ghost’s fur intently. “Aye, that is true, but there is something there about this man. From what I have gathered, it seems he goes in and out of the city as it seems that there are those within the city who know him and make use of him.”

The prince is staring at him now, and Jon can feel his breath begin to grow heavier. “And who exactly are these people?”

He feels as if he is drowning, his breathing is heavy now, and he feels embarrassed, but none of the other boy seem to be able to hear it, which is a relief. He takes a moment and then says. “Janos Slynt, and Ser Balon Byrch. It seems they are most voracious customers of his.”

“Slynt?” Horas Redwyne says. “That man seems to have a finger in every pot.”

“Aye, that he does.” the man’s twin says. “He is a grave risk then is he not my prince?”

They all look at the prince then, who is looking at Ghost, staring intently, into his red eyes, Jon feels his heart begin to quicken then, the prince’s voice seems to come from a distance, but also very close by when he does answer. “He is. And he must be dealt with.” There is a moment’s silence and then the prince turns to Sandor Clegane. “Sandor, you know Gorge and Biter?”

“Yes my prince.” the man responds.

“Take them out of the black cells and use them.” the prince responds.

Jon sees Clegane nod and turn and walk out of the room, Jon looks at the prince then and asks. “Who are Gorge and Biter my prince?”

The prince does not take his eyes off of Ghost for a moment, and Jon feels as if his breath is coming out in rapid gulps just now, then the prince looks at him. “They are people who have done somethings that deserves punishment and yet they have their uses for just now.”

Jon feels slightly uncomfortable at the thought of that, but merely nods his head. Seeing that the prince is looking at him, he speaks. “I have also found out about the thing with the Tyrells my prince.”

“And what have you discovered?” the prince asks.

“That there is something being discussed between Lord Renly and Ser Loras, something to do with the throne and yourself. As well as Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, it seems they are discussing some serious things. And there been talks of arming the peasants.” Jon says.

“How did you come to know this?” Hobber Redwyne asks sounding nervous, and Jon begins to wonder if his suspicions are being confirmed now.

Jon looks at him and then looks at the prince who nods. “I overheard a conversation between two people, one of who was clearly Lord Renly and the other was a man with fiery red hair. They were speaking in whispers, but they had forgotten that sound carries.”

There is a long moment of silence then, as they all look at the Redwyne Twins, the prince seems to be growing more and more irate, if the expression on his face is anything to go by, however, before they can say or do anything more on this matter, the door opens and Sandor Clegane walks in dragging a blond haired man, who Jon comes to recognise as Lancel Lannister.  “Found this idiot lurking outside the door. Says he wasn’t trying to listen in, but he clearly was.”

The man is thrown to the floor at the prince’s feet, and he looks up shaking. “My prince….I….”

The anger that the prince had clearly been feeling toward the Redwynes, he know takes out on his cousin. “Sandor pick up this fool, Preston open the window.” Jon watches as the two do as they are told, and soon enough sees the prince stand up and walk toward the window where Lancel Lannister is being held. “So you were spying on me were you? Why? Who for?”

The boy looks terrified, as if he is going to shit himself. Jon laughs slightly at the sight, but turns serious when he sees how serious the prince is. “I was not, I promise my prince I was not. I just happened to be there when Ser Sandor came back.”

“Do you take me for a fool Lancel?” The prince asks. “Now, why were you spying on me?”

Lance Lannister looks terrified then, and for a moment, Jon feels sorry for him, and then the boy says. “I was merely walking through the corridor, your savage took hold of me.”

The prince laughs, and looks at Clegane. “Is he telling the truth Sandor?”

“No, he was most definitely spying.” the man responds.

The prince’s ire seems to grow then, and surprisingly, Ghost is barring his teeth at Lancel as well, snarling. “Sandor, push this fool out of the window.” Clegane, grabs Lancel Lannister by the scruff of the throat, and hoists him up and out of the window, holding him there, Jon hears his screams. “Now, who were you spying for and why?” the prince asks calmly.

There is more screaming, and Jon feels his gut begin to sink slightly, he does not like this, it does not seem right. Eventually, the man is dragged back closer to where they might hear him. “The Queen. I was spying on you for the queen.”

“Why?” the prince asks.

“Because she does not trust your friends. She thinks some of them are not trustworthy, that they are seeking to use you for their own gain. Especially, the Stark bastard.” Lancel shouts.

The prince looks at him a moment, something flashing in his eyes that scares Jon, and then it is gone. “You are condemning yourself with your own tongue Lancel. Now, I suppose that you can die now. You are of no use to anyone. Kill him.” the prince responds.

Jon hears a scream, and his gut twists, this is not right, this is not right. “No, please, my prince don’t do this.” he finds himself saying.

All eyes are on him then, but Jon finds himself looking simply at the prince. “And why not?” the prince asks. “He is a traitor.”

Jon swallows then and responds. “Yes, and that is a crime, but he can be used for something else surely? Surely you can use him to gather information on your mother?”

The prince considers this a moment and then says. “Very well, Sandor, bring the fool here.” The man is dragged before the prince, and Jon can see that he has pissed himself. The prince stares straight into Lancel’s eyes and says. “You are mine now. You will gather information on my mother and continue to be hers, but you are mine now. Betray me and I shall kill you. Do you understand?”

Lancel’s voice is soft when he replies. “Yes my prince, I do.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” the prince responds, and Clegane throws Lancel away. Jon looks at the prince and is slightly disturbed to see a strange glint in the prince’s eyes, they seem red.

 


	13. Cersei I

****

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

The words of the woods witch were always playing in her mind, they had always been playing in her mind from the time she had heard them, as a little girl. It was infuriating, and it was also worrying, because one by one they had come true. She had become a Queen, and her husband had sired numerous bastards, sixteen at her last count, and now she had three children, but she was not sure what would come from that. She was determined not to allow them to die before her, she had planned on removing Tyrion from their party on the way north, but her brother had been too close to the king to allow for the avoidance of doubt, and so she had laid off. The imp had then chosen to go to the wall to explore it, and Cersei desperately hoped that he had fallen off of it. She did not want the valonqar coming to hurt her and her children, she had worked far too hard to allow that. However, there were other things worrying her, Stark had begun sniffing around looking for reasons as to why Jon Arryn had died, and though Cersei had not liked that old fool, she had had no hand in his death. There were just some things she did not want Stark to find out, such as the boy, the boy who she had not seen for many years, she did not want anyone to find him, and he had to be safe, safe from all of this.  Yet from what she had heard and been told Stark had begun looking in that direction, and she was not sure what she would do if he found him that was something she did not want, desperately she did not want, for it meant then that the girl would be her end. And the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. How could that simple fool of a girl be her downfall? She did not think it likely, the other girl was more likely to be her downfall, that girl was smart on some level, like Lyanna Stark had been, but she did not use her brain, just like her aunt. Cersei was sure that things would not go down that path, but she had to make sure, and so she was meeting with Pycelle, Jaime with her.

“How are things going with Stark?” she asks. “Have you convinced him to look elsewhere?”

The old man worked for her father, she had always known that, and yet recently she got the feeling that the man might be aging, or at least becoming slower in his old age. He smelled that was for certain. “I have spoken with the hand yes my queen. And I have told him what you asked me to tell him. He does not seem convinced.”

Cersei narrows her eyes. “How do you mean? What has he said?”

Pycelle looks at her nervously and then responds. “He thinks there is more to Lord Arryn’s death than meets the eye. And for one reason or another he seems convinced that you had a hand in it.”

Feeling her heart begin to speed up she asks. “Did he say as much?”

Pycelle shakes his head. “No, but he was intimating that he believed you had a role my queen. He keeps referring to something in a letter, something about coldness and lions.”

Cersei curses then. “His whore of a goodsister must have sent something to him, warning him. No doubt on Baelish’s urging. The man wants something between Lannister and Stark, I was wondering when he would begin to show his hand.”

Pycelle looks at her a moment and then responds. “I would not be so sure on that matter. Baelish is smarter than that, he would not show his hand so early. There is much and more that the man might try to achieve.”

“Such as?” Cersei asks her eyes narrowing.

Pycelle looks at her and then says. “There is something he wants from the throne my Queen. That much I have been able to figure out from the man. He bears a grudge from the time he was growing up when he was with the Tullys in Riverrun, I think there is something within him that wishes for power to make a point.”

“A point to whom?” Cersei asks. “To us or the Starks? After all, it was the Starks that brought that dashing of his hopes. Perhaps he might think to use his hatred for the throne’s advantage, if he of course knows that we know.”

“I think that he is trying to make a point toward both sides my Queen. I think he is trying to show the nobility that a man such as him can play the game of thrones just as well as any of us, and win. He wants to win.” Pycelle says.

“You mean, he wishes for us to die?” Cersei asks.

“No my Queen, I think he has a different definition of winning.” Pycelle responds, in a voice that only serves to increase her irritation.

“And what is his version of winning then? If it is not to kill off his enemies?” Cersei asks.

The man looks at her as if she is a simpleton then, and she feels her hands begin to clench. “He wants us dancing to his song. He wishes for us to believe him necessary to the continuation of the throne, as well as for the Starks to see him as an ally. He wants us all to be dependent on him.”

“Then kill him.” Cersei says bluntly. “If he is doing things that are against my son’s interest, then have him killed.”

Pycelle looks at her surprised and then Jaime speaks softly. “It would be better to keep him alive my Queen. After all, if he thinks he is of use to you, then he can continue to serve you. If he knows you want him dead, he will go to Stark.”

Cersei looks at her twin then, thinking, her mind working fast, she knows little of Baelish, other than his past with the Tullys, and the fact he got the position as master of coin due to his escapades with Lady Arryn. She thinks and thinks and then turning to Pycelle she asks. “Is there anyone who might be a better fit for the role of master of coin than Baelish?”

The man is silent for a moment and then responds. “Your uncle Ser Kevan is a suitable candidate my Queen. I do think that it would be a good thing to have more Lannister presence within the council, to be able to control the direction of policy.”

Cersei considers this a moment and then nods. “Very well, send word to the Rock and ask Ser Kevan to begin preparing.” Pycelle nods and then Cersei says. “Now, what other issues are there that Stark has been ruining? How goes the choice for the commander of the city watch?”

Pycelle looks at her a moment and then says. “It seems Stark is most definitely considering Ser Jacelyn Bywater, it seems that he feels that Bywater is the most trustworthy candidate, and someone who would make it easier for him to gather control within the city.”

“You have suggested a cousin of ours have you not Pycelle?” Cersei asks.

“Of course my Queen, but Lord Stark does not seem to be willing to listen to that suggestion. It seems he is viewing the family with most suspicion.” Pycelle replies.

Cersei stares at him then, feeling her anger growing anew. “And what exactly has given him, cause to view our family with so much suspicion? You have done as asked, and are trying to make him see Baelish as the enemy yes?”

Pycelle looks at her then and nods. “Yes my Queen. Of course, I have done my utmost to make him see why Baelish cannot be trusted, and yet it seems that Stark is determined to view Baelish as more of an ally than yourself and the family.”

“Well keep trying.” Cersei snaps. “And make sure to mention the scurrilous things Baelish has been saying about his wife for some time.”

“Of course my Queen.” Pycelle says bowing his head.

Cersei turns her attention to her brother then and asks. “What do you have to tell me about the Kingsguard, what things are happening there?”

Her brother looks at her a moment and then says. “Selmy has been having nightmares again. It seems there is something going on within his head, something that keeps him up at night. He continues to speak about Harrenhal and something he did wrong there, when he sleeps.”

“And what relevance does this have towards us?” Cersei snaps.

Her brother looks at her and then says. “He keeps mentioning King Aerys and Queen Rhaella. He says that there is something hidden within the bowels of King’s Landing, in fact he has said it to me many times whilst awake. It might help us with our plans.”

Cersei looks at her brother and then asks. “Do you honestly believe that?”

Her brother shrugs. “After all that has happened in my time here, I am not sure whether I would be a greater fool to not believe it. I think there might be something within this castle that might well be centred toward power. I do not know.”

“So you would believe the night talk of an old man, and a mad king? I do not know whether to laugh, or feel sorry for you brother.” Cersei responds.

Her brother laughs then, and Pycelle speaks. “I would not rule that out my Queen. I have heard rumours myself about the thing Ser Jaime speaks of. It was rumoured to have helped King Aegon and his predecessors, and there were somethings that might explain why King Aerys failed as did his father.”

Cersei looks at the old man and simply says. “Well begin looking for it. Either bring it before me, and I might believe you, or do not speak of it again. The choice is yours.” With that she stands and walks out of the room, Jaime following her.  The further they get from the room, the more she feels herself calm down. Turning to look at her brother she says. “What was all that about Jaime? Why did you bring up that thing?”

Her brother smiles then. “Because I wanted to see how Pycelle reacted. I know he knows now, and that means there is someone else within this damned castle that knows where it might be found. We might be able to get to it before them then.”

“Why?” Cersei asks. “What is so important about it? You do not even know what it is.”

Her brother looks at her and then responds. “Because it was something Aerys wanted, and I know there are some within the court that want it. The Velaryons are looking for it, and if they are looking for it, we must act. The prince cannot be harmed.”

Cersei looks at her brother and then whispers. “Do you think that is where the Darrys went when we rode off from their castle?”

Her brother nods. “I do. I think they went off looking for it, for they believe it to be within the riverlands somewhere. But I think it is here, and I do believe that we might be able to find it.”

She takes a moment to think on that and then she whispers. “Do you think father knows?”

“I think he might suspect. Whatever it is, he definitely tried to find it. And I do think that it might still be here.” her brother responds.

Cersei nods, and then she turns round and continues walking, her thoughts a whir with activity. Slowly but surely, they come back to her chambers, but before they do, she sees two figures in the distance, she stops her brother and nods toward the two figures, seeing a direwolf with one of them. Once they go, she whispers. “Keep an eye on them from now on.”

 


	14. Jon V

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

It felt nice to be part of a group to have some sense of belonging, to have friends. When he had lived in Winterfell, he had always had to rely on Robb, and as they had grown older, that had become more and more frustrating. He did not want to rely on Robb forever, he had wanted to grow, to develop as a person, and he felt that being in King’s Landing was the perfect opportunity for that to happen. Once again, Jon found himself wondering why his father had been so set on having him not come to King’s Landing, or even leaving the north. It seemed to Jon, that his father would have been far happier had he gone off to the Wall and frozen his bollocks off. He had met and spoken with his father only four times since they had come south and every time the conversation had been stilted, as if his father was in a rush to finish it. That did not make him feel great, it made him angry and it made him question why his father was acting the way he was. Something was going on with his father and Jon wanted to know what was happening.

As he looked at Lucas, he wonders what his friend’s life had been like before coming to King’s Landing, Lucas was a second son and seemed to be a good man, but there was something there about him, something that Jon felt he could connect with. “So, if you don’t mind me asking Lucas, but how come you came south?”

His friend looks at him a moment and then says. “Well, I came south with my father around four years ago, my father wanted to sort some sort of dispute out with the king, and as a result I ended up being left behind.”

“What was the dispute about?” Jon asks intrigued.

“Something to do with collection of taxes. It seemed my father and Lord Bracken had gotten into a serious argument, and Lord Tully could not resolve it to a satisfactory manner for both of them, and so they took the matter before the crown.” Lucas responds, a strange look passing over his face.

“And how did it end then?” Jon asks. “The dispute I mean.”

His friend looks at him a moment. “It ended with my father having to pay some form of recompense to Lord Bracken, and having to leave me here in King’s Landing as a surety that he would not try anything odd.”

“Ah,” Jon says then. “I see. I am sorry for asking.”

“No, no, it is fine.” Lucas says. “You asked a question and I gave an answer. I was not really sure what to make of that fact when I was informed of it. But I have come to love King’s Landing, it is a nice place, and there are certainly more opportunities for me here than there would have been had I remained in Raventree Hall. Furthermore, the prince was very welcoming.”

Jon smiles at that, the prince is most definitely quite welcoming something that he had found to be a surprise when the royal court had come to Winterfell, considering what they had heard beforehand. He supposes that that just goes to prove the saying, not to judge a person before you actually meet them. He looks at his friend then and asks. “Were the others already here when you came?”

Lucas nods. “Aye, well Tyrek was, he and the prince were milk brothers, as for Horas and Hobber they had been here around a year I think. Whilst Waymar had been here for around two years.”

“And Bryce? What of him?” Jon asks.

At this Lucas scrunches up his face. “I am not sure. None but Tyrek and the prince know where Bryce came from. And even then they will not say everything, and Bryce, well you’ve met him, he doesn’t exactly say that much.”

“So you do not think he comes from the Mistwood then?” Jon asks intrigued.

His friend looks at him. “I am not sure if I truly believe that. The Mistwood is big aye, but if you look at his colouring, well it would suggest something else. Then there is the fact that King Robert never seems to acknowledge him as anything other than a friend whenever we see him. Considering what the boy looks like it is quite surprising that the king has not said anything.”

Jon considers this, Bryce Storm is an odd one, with eyes the colour of night, and hair the colour of a pale sun, he can see why Lucas says what he says, it seems that there is something going on there, but he is not sure what, regardless of that, that is not what they are here for. Looking at his friend he asks. “And what do you make of this?” holding up a piece of paper they had found near Queen Cersei’s chambers.

His friend looks at the piece of paper in question and then says. “I am not sure, but whatever it is the queen is planning, there is most definitely a sinister tint in it. The prince will want to know.”

“Why do you think she is working so hard to do this?” Jon asks. “Why can she not simply try to work with those who are here now? Why must she try and undermine it all?”

Lucas looks thoughtful then. “I think it is because there is something within the Queen’s psyche that means that she cannot allow good to thrive. She sees only shadows where there is light. It has taken us a long time, but I think the prince is finally beginning to see her as we do.”

Jon looks at his friend then surprised. “You mean he did not see her this way before?”

Lucas laughs. “Of course he did not. He saw her as his mother, he loved her, he still loves her, and it is because of that that it took him time.”

Jon nods. “I suppose that does make sense, after all, the woman can be quite charming when she wants to be.”

Lucas looks at him and then whispers. “Put the letter in your pocket Jon, it’s time we went to see the prince.”

Jon puts the letter inside a pocket, and walks with Lucas. They walk in silence for some time, Jon’s thoughts whirring into action. He thinks on what he knows about what his father is looking into, the whole issue with Jon Arryn, the issue with that bastard boy in the forge, it all seems connected somehow, but he does not know how. It is beginning to gnaw away at him, it is annoying, this not knowing. They walk through the hallways, Ghost at their side, and then they come to the prince’s room, Ser Preston nods at them and announces them, and then the door opens and they enter. The prince is sat on a miniature throne, it looks good, he looks good sat on the throne, and he is dressed regally, with his clothes golden and black. Sat at his side is Tyrek Lannister, someone whom Jon suspects might well become the future Lord of the Rock should Lord Tywin die, suddenly. Jon and Lucas stop before him and bow, and Ghost pads over to where the prince is sat and lies down at his feet. “Rise.” the prince commands. “What have you found for me?”

Jon looks at Lucas who nods, and so he pulls the letter out of his pocket and says. “We found this letter near the Queen’s chambers my prince. It was writ in her hand, and it seems to be meant for Lord Tywin. It seems she is requesting his presence within the capital before the moon is over.”

“Does she say why?” the prince asks.

Jon looks at the letter and then responds. “It seems she thinks that Lord of the Rock’s power is going to be needed within King’s Landing soon enough. She says that the time is coming for them to show their claws, and she wants his full support when that time comes.”

The prince looks at him intently then, and then says. “Hand me the letter Jon.” Jon moves forward and gives the prince the letter, and watches as he reads it intently, once he is done he puts the letter down and says. “My mother is beginning to reveal her hand. She is planning to remove some of my father’s ministers and install her own favourites in their place.”

“Can you know that for sure my prince?” Tyrek asks.

The prince looks at his cousin and nods. “Oh, I think we can. Come now Ty, you know my mother, you know she is going to try and do something to increase her own power. I am not of age to rule by myself, my father is in failing health, and my uncles are buffoons who think only for themselves. She is going to do something very soon, very, very soon.”

“Would she see King Robert dead?” Lucas asks then.

The prince looks at the young Blackwood and replies. “I do not think she would do that just yet. My mother is many things, but I do not think she is a complete idiot. At least not yet, but there are things that might make her do rash things.”

There is another moment of silence then, and Jon thinks on this, he has a nagging worry that the Queen might try and harm his father, and though he is not on the best of terms with his father just now, he would not want to see him hurt. As if sensing his worry, the prince looks at him, and places a calming hand on Ghost’s fur, Jon feels relaxed then. “It will be alright Jon, your father will be safe. So long as he does nothing that brings my mother’s attention toward him.”

Jon takes a deep breath then, feeling himself relax slightly. “That is good, I do not think my father would continue to progress on those searches of his, if he knows what is at stake.”

The prince nods, and Jon feels himself relaxing even more as he sees the prince ruffle Ghost’s fur. “Now what else did you find out?” the prince asks.

Jon looks at Lucas who says. “We discovered notes that she had written, from a meeting with Pycelle and it seems they discussed what Lord Stark was looking into, as well some sort of thing that Ser Jaime mentioned, something that the mad king was looking into. Something that provided the kings of old with some power.”

A strange look passes the prince’s face then, Jon is not sure what it means, but it is there, and he wonders whether or not they might have stumbled across something. The prince’s voice is calm when he says. “Do the notes say what exactly this thing is?”

“No my prince.” Lucas says shaking his head. “It seems that Ser Jaime could not say what this thing was, for he did not seem to know. It seems the Queen asked Ser Jaime to look into it, and to find it quickly.”

The prince seems to be considering this, and Jon wonders why that is. “Very well, was there anything else?”

“No my prince, that was all.” both Lucas and Jon say.

The prince nods. “Very well, considering that you mentioned Ser Jaime, I suppose now is as good a time as any to reveal what I have been doing.” there is a moment’s pause and then the prince calls out. “Ser Jaime, you may come in now.”

The door opens and Ser Jaime walks in looking resplendent in his golden armour, he kneels before the prince and lays his sword at the prince’s feet. “I am yours from this day forth my prince. I will do your bidding without question and I shall do it to the best of my abilities.”


	15. Arya II

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Arya Stark**

Arya despised King’s Landing, it was too warm here, the people did not seem genuine, and there was not enough for her to actually do. Not for the first time she found herself wondering why she had been brought here. Her father did not answer her questions, when he even found the time to look at her, he seemed more intent on finding out what had happened to some old man that Arya had never met before, instead of spending time with his actual family. Her sister was caught up in her betrothal to the prince, and whilst she did not think the prince was that bad of a person, she just found it sickening how Sansa seemed happy to throw herself at the prince regardless of whatever was going on around them. But the worst thing about King’s Landing, was the fact that Jon, her Jon, was not with her, he was not spending anywhere near enough time with her, and she hated that, she really hated that. Jon was gone, replaced by someone she did not know, and she hated it. The only thing that was good about King’s Landing was Syrio and her sword lessons that was it that was the only good thing. And even that she felt sad about, because she did not have the chance to show Jon what she had learned.

The twang of the sword against her head brought her back to her senses. She looks at Syrio and sees him looking at her disapprovingly. “You are distracted, that is not good. You would be dead now.”

“You hit me when I was not looking, that is not fair.” Arya responds.

Syrio looks at her and then responds. “Nothing in life is fair child. Do you think if you are fighting someone, they will simply stop fighting you because you are not looking at you? No, they will not, they will continue fighting and attacking you until you are dead.”

“That is not honourable.” Arya retorts. “Surely they would not do that.”

The First Sword of Braavos looks at her and then swings his sword, knocking her sword out her hand and pointing the tip of his at her neck. “There is nothing honourable about fighting in war girl. To fight with honour is to die. To survive and win, you must fight in whatever manner will make it so.”

“So then why bother learning how to fight?” Arya asks, her voice sounding sullen to her own ears. “If there is nothing honourable about fighting, then surely one need not even think about learning how to fight.”

The man looks at her then and sighs. “You are not understanding girl. You must learn how to fight, otherwise you would be dead. Not knowing how to fight is not an excuse for not learning how to fight. Honour is a concept only few are allowed to have, sense is one that all must have, if they are to survive in this world.”

“Why though? Why do people talk about honour like that? As if it is something to be vaunted above its station? If it only gets you killed, then why do people treat it as if it is something it is not?” she asks.

The first sword of Braavos looks at her sadly then and says. “Because people need something to hold onto child. They need to know that they are not all just thoughtless beings, doing things to survive. They need something to hold themselves to, they need something to make them remember who they are. Take that away from someone and they are nothing, they are not different.”

“What do you mean?” Arya asks curiously.

Syrio picks up her fallen sword then and hands it to her, she takes it slightly reluctantly and moves into position. Syrio does the same, and then he speaks. “People need things to hold onto. They want to believe they are special, because if they did not think that, then the world would become too dark for them to live in.” Syrio moves forward then, and Arya steps back, avoiding his blow.

“And, they think teaching lies to their children is one way of making this better?” she asks.

Syrio moves forward then moving closer toward her. “Is it a lie, if they think it true though girl? Think of your own father, he is known as the most honourable man within the seven kingdoms, his honour is well known throughout the known world. You are an honourable girl are you not?”

Arya blocks the man’s blow and then pushes forward with her own set of blows. “Yes, but I do not know if that matters or not.”

“And why do you think that?” the man asks. Pushing her back and moving closer toward her.

“Because, my father has not spent any time with me or my siblings since we came here. He is too busy looking into something or the other, and I do not know why he brought me here.” Arya responds, bitterness creeping into her voice.

“Would he not have brought you here to accompany your sister?” the man asks moving back as she swings at him.

“No, I have not spent any time with Sansa since coming here. I think it has all gone wrong. Whatever it was he wanted me here for, he has since forgotten about me.” Arya responds, hating how sad she sounds.

They lock swords then, Arya stares into the eyes of her dancing instructor, and he seems to be looking at her intently. “Have you tried approaching him? Asking him for a bit of time?”

Arya thinks on this and then responds. “No, but he never even bothers looking at me anymore. Have I done something wrong?”

The man laughs then. “That is where you are making a mistake. If you do not go to him and ask him things, he will of course think things are fine. You must make him remember your problems girl, otherwise you will be forgotten.”

Arya breaks their sword lock and dances back, thinking. “And if I do as you say, what then? How can he help? What would he be able to do?”

Syrio moves forward, Arya advances back. “He can talk with you about it. Sometimes all one needs is to talk about things with someone and they think of how to resolve the issue themselves.”

Arya thinks on this, and continues moving backwards as her teacher comes toward her, his sword somewhere behind him. “But then, what good will that do? My father has never been good at sorting things out.” A trace of sadness comes to her then. “It was always my mother who was good at that.”

“Then write to your mother, and see what she has to say. But speak with your father as well.” the man says coming toward her then.

Arya finds her sword coming up of its own accord, blocking a swing she should not have been able to block. “Why? He will just worry unnecessarily, and there is nothing he can do.”

“He is your father, he will want to be able to help.” Syrio responds moving back and then coming forward again.

Arya blocks, and ducks, moving in and out, dancing to the tune her dancing master is setting, determined to try and make something of herself. They continue on like that for some time, moving forwards and backwards, Syrio hits her a few times, she manages to block a few of his swings as well, and she even manages to hit him once or twice. When they eventually do stop, she is panting heavily, and sweating. Arya looks at her dancing instructor and asks. “What made you come to Westeros Syrio?”

Her instructor is silent a moment and then he says. “I came because I was asked to come.”

“By who?” Arya asks.

There is a long pause and then Syrio says. “Your father asked for a dancing instructor for you, or as we both know someone who might teach you the way of the sword dance, and someone I knew recommended me to him, and so we spoke briefly through letters and I came.”

“Why did you leave Braavos Syrio?” Arya asks.

“As I said, I was asked to come here and so I did.” Syrio responds.

“But you are the first sword of Braavos, why would you come here, if you were his guard? Is that not a lack of doing your duty?” Arya asks.

Syrio laughs then, a deep sound that rumbles. “Ah, you are clever girl. I was once the first sword of the Sealord, but then he died, and I had to leave or face being hunted down by my former master’s rival.”

“So you lied?” Arya asks.

“In a manner yes, I did lie, but I did not lie in another. I owe allegiance to none now, but I am here all the same.” Syrio says.

Arya does not completely understand that, but she nods all the same. “How long will you remain in King’s Landing?” she asks.

The man looks at her thoughtfully, and then responds. “As long as you need me, I shall remain girl. Now off with you, there is no time for dawdling today.”

Arya nods, and hands him her sword, before whistling to Nymeria and walking out of the room. She walks or rather runs down the steps, her heart thumping in her chest, she wonders how Syrio thinks she is progressing, perhaps she should have asked him, but at the same time, she knows that asking such a thing is not always a good thing. On she goes, Nymeria following her, she feels much better now, and she always feels better when she has been fighting.  She thinks on what he has said, perhaps she should speak with her father, and see whether or not he might tell her why he has maintained so much distance between the two of them, as well as between himself and her siblings, but then she wonders if he would even pay her any attention whatsoever, and she thinks not. Her father is very good at ignoring things he does not want to see or discuss, he has done it enough with Jon for her to know that.

The sun is prominent within the sky, there was a sense of heat and sweat in the air, and Arya takes a deep breath, she sees someone or a group of people coming toward her, and she immediately hides behind the pillar to her right, Nymeria coming to her side. Her direwolf is usually quite loud so for her to be quiet now is something else. She peeks round and sees two figures, one tall with long brown hair, and the other with short cropped hair almost bald walking side by side talking quietly. Arya strains and she can hear some of what they are saying. “It seems that Stark has not yet learned his lesson, he is still going to make his declarations, and all he needs now is to speak with the Queen.”

“That is not good enough, he needs to make sure that it is all in place before he does that. Does he not remember what was asked of him?”

“I think he has forgotten, I think the years have clouded his mind, and now indecision has crowded his mind. The fact that his bastard is friends with the prince, I think might have made him think twice on the matter.”

“Then the bastard must be dealt with. Stark is crucial to our plans. He must remember his promise.”

“I shall remind him.” the tall man says, Arya moves slowly around the pillar as they cross where she had been before.

She wonders at that, wonders what her father and Jon have to do with what they are speaking about, she wonders and she worries. She knows she needs to tell her father about this, but she knows he will not believe her. Gods she hates it here. She just wants to go home.


	16. Ned V

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**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Things within King’s Landing were growing more and more precarious, Ned could feel a change on the wind, there was something happening, he did not know what it was, but there was most definitely something happening. So much was going on within the woodwork of King’s Landing that he did not know how to think or how to act, it was making him feel very frustrated. How Pycelle had come to have a letter with his mother’s writing on it, he did not know and that worried him, that really worried him, there was something about Pycelle that Ned had never really trusted. The man was a Lannister man through and through, Ned had known that since the sack, and yet, since being here in King’s Landing, there was something different about him, he did not know what it was, but it was there. And then there was the revelation about Jon Arryn, about how he had been running an illicit operation from the Old Thistle, that had really shaken Ned’s eyes and his thoughts, he did not know anything anymore. It was a growing concern. He looks around the council chamber, and sees Robert there, sober for once, and that, that is something he does not know what to make of.

“The whore is with child?! You are sure of that?” Robert bellows.

“I am my king, word came from Ser Jorah himself. It seems that the girl is with child.” the eunuch says.

“I want her found and killed.” Robert growls.

“Your Grace, you cannot be serious.” Ned says, speaking for the first time, risking bringing attention to himself. “She is a little girl half way across the world. No one is going to fight for her. No one.”

His friend looks at him a withering gaze. “That is not what you said when we spoke in the Barrowlands Ned. She is married to a Horselord, and whilst they might not like the sea, if the Horselord she is married to thinks he can get enough support to cross the seas, then, then he will do it. If he can get his son on the throne by gods will he try.”

Ned finds himself slightly relieved that Robert did not mention Viserys, he considers mentioning the boy now, but instead decides against it. “You honestly think he will get support? What has led to this madness Your Grace?”

His friend looks at him a moment and then looks at the eunuch and says. “Tell Lord Stark what you told me.”

Ned looks at the eunuch and sees some strange emotion cross his face then, he is not sure just what the emotion is, but it is there and then it is gone. The eunuch’s voice is calm and collected when he speaks. “Word has come from my sources within Essos, it seems that an army is gathering in Qohor, and in Norvos, an army is gathering behind a dragon banner.”

Ned feels something within him shudder a little then, he looks briefly at Pycelle and then back at the eunuch and asks. “And do they know why this is happening?”

Again a strange look crosses over the eunuch’s face and Ned is not sure what to make of it, or whether it was actually there, given how quickly it disappears. “It is there because these forces are mustering to fight for the dragons. It seems news of Daenerys Targaryen’s pregnancy has spread throughout the Essosi cities and they are preparing.”

“For war?” Ned exclaims incredulously. “Surely you do not think this is true Robert. The free cities have not worked together since the bleeding years. They despite once another, they are not going to be siding with a Targaryen unless they think the girl can win, and that, that won’t happen, not with her having a Horselord for a husband.”

Robert looks at him then, as if seeing him for the first time. “Well evidently we have underestimated them, for that is what they are doing. It is time for us to take the girl seriously, as we always knew we would have to. It is time we had her and her unborn child killed.”

Ned feels something shift within him then, he is not sure how to respond to that, he is not sure he wants to know how to respond to that. All he knows is that he has only ever seen Robert look the way he does now, once before, and that was when they learned of Rhaegar abducting Lyanna. Gods, he does not know what to do, he remembers his promise, and he remembers something else, something deep within him that he has tried to keep hidden for some time. He swallows and says. “I do not know if that would be a good idea my king.”

Robert looks at him and asks. “Why?”

“It might just insight the Horselord to speed up his plans and engage properly. Now they are still disorganised as far as I can tell, and yet doing this might well bring them to their full strength, is that something you are willing to do?” Ned questions.

He sees a moment of uncertainty pass over his friend’s face but before Robert can respond, Lord Renly speaks. “It has to be done, the girl and her child are a threat so long as they live, and it should have been done long ago. This has got to be why Darry left the same time as you did my king, he was leaving to gather support for this uprising. Kill the girl now and you will solve this.”

“Or you might just as well, make them more committed toward fighting for the dragons.” Ned says.

“Gods dammit Ned, enough. You have said your piece, but I think you are clouded by judgement, whatever you think you are doing, you are not saving that girl’s life. She is going to die, and she is going to die now.” Robert booms, Ned sees Robert look at Varys then. “Send word that she is to die.”

The eunuch nods. “It will be done my king.”

Ned stands up then anger flowing through him. “If you are going to be doing this, then you might as well count me out. I will not accept this.” He takes the badge of the hand of the king and throws it onto the table. “I never thought I’d see the day when Robert Baratheon got scared of a little girl.”

His friend looks at him and snarls. “Get out then, and leave for your shithole in the north. If you come back here, I will kill you.”

Ned bows then. “As you command Your Grace.” He turns and walks out of the room then, his heart hammering.

Ned walks from the council chamber, what he heard ringing in his ears, he breathes a sigh of relief knowing that the king did not think to target Viserys, at least that has been kept true, but now he thinks he might have just put himself in even more danger, and more than that his children. So long as he was hand of the king, he could work and find out more, but there is something else, something more going on, and he now does not have the protection of the title. Gods dammit, he curses himself but the damage is done, he walks to the tower of the hand, and meets Vayon there. “Get the household ready to depart, we are going to be leaving soon enough.” he says. The man nods and hurries of to prepare for their departure. Ned walks to his solar, and sits down. As expected, Jory comes to him then. “Have you managed to get the boy out of Tobho Mott’s forge?” he asks.

“I have my lord, he is in a safe place, where none but I can find him.” Jory responds.

“Good, that is very good. And you have placed the men on watch ready for when the time comes?” Ned asks, he feels nervous thinking about what is to come, if the king is indeed ailing as he knows, then perhaps this might need to happen sooner. He thinks on the conversation with the Queen, and he knows what needs to be done, that does not mean that it is any easier.

“I have my lord, they are prepared and waiting for your command. As is Ser Jacelyn.” Jory responds.

“Good that is good.” Ned responds, Ser Jacelyn was a good man, honest as well, a good replacement for the murdered Janos Slynt. He looks at Jory, and says. “You may go now Jory, be ready for my word.”

The man nods and bows and then leaves, but before the door can fully close behind him, another figure enters in, this one has pale hair, and is scarred, but Ned does not call for alarm, for he has been expecting this figure. He looks at the figure, and nods. “So you have come at last then.”

“Aye the time was right, it has begun.” the figure says.

“Why now? There was not enough time for it to work properly? I had the Queen’s confession surely there could have been room for patience?” Ned asks.

The figure shakes its head. “No, you waited too long you have strayed from your oath. The Master was not willing to wait any longer and so he has acted. You must do as you said you would do. Do it now, or face the wrath of the master.”

Ned looks at the figure and snarls. “I will not be threatened by you, nor by the master as you call it. You have nothing over me. I shall do as I see fit.”

The figure laughs then. “You have already lost your daughter to the master, now the time is coming for you to fall my lord.” with that the figure turns and walks out. Ned knows that he should call for his men to take the figure prisoner, but he knows that would be pointless, no one has ever captured the figure and lived.  

He sighs then, remembering how he got himself into this mess. The dying days of the rebellion had been filled with confusion, and there was something within the air that made all the decisions he had made before then the right ones to make. He had seen things during the dying days of the rebellion that had made him question his will to live, his sanity, only the thought of his wife and new-born son had been enough to allow him to continue. He did not know what to do now, he had made two promises to two different women at the end of the rebellion, and one was now being called into be paid, but he did not know whether he trusted that or not. There was far too much indecision in his mind, he needed to ask someone, he did not know who to ask. Gods dammit, he hated this, hated it.

A knock on the door drags him from his thoughts. “Come in.” He calls.

Jory stands there looking ashen faced. “My lord, you are being summoned.”

“By who the king?” Ned asks.

“Aye, something bad has happened.” Jory says.

Ned sighs, and walks out of the room, and out of the tower of the hand, he walks and walks and eventually comes to the king’s chambers, he knocks on the door and then enters. What he finds surprises him, the king is lying sprawled on the bed, bleeding from several places, his eyes looking bloodshot. “What happened?” he asks.

Pycelle speaks. “He took a fall my lord, the king was drinking and then he fell, and this happened.”

Ned looks at Pycelle, and then back at his friend, he has seen this happen only once before, and even then he was there when it happened and he could not believe that it had happened. He sighs and looks at Pycelle and asks. “How long does he have left?”

The man looks at him and says softly. “A day at most.”


	17. Jon VI

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Things were changing, that Jon knew, he could sense it in the wind in the air, in the way people spoke and acted. King Robert was dead or dying, which one was actually the case Jon did not know, did not really care, Prince Joffrey had become King Joffrey as far as he was concerned, and as such Jon owed his loyalty to him now. King Robert had not been a good king, if anything, he had been worse than the mad king for he had had the chance to be something good, and instead had turned to bad. Jon could never understand that, could not understand how someone could just abandon their duty, how they could make something so good into something so bad. He did not understand how his father had become friends with the former king, how he had allowed himself to be blinded by the words of the fat man. It angered Jon, it really did, that his father could have been so blind to Robert Baratheon’s faults, and could have allowed himself to be convinced that all would be well. One thing Jon had learned during his time within King’s Landing, was that his father was very willing to overlook things that did not sit well with his preconceived values, and that was something that he could not understand, it contradicted everything he had ever taught Jon and his siblings, it was just another sign that his father was not who he thought he was.

And now, as he looks at his father and sees something akin to tension in the man’s face, he feels something akin to anger flare up inside of him. His father had summoned him here, and had not even spoken to him yet. Coughing, Jon looks at his father and asks. “Why did you summon me here father? What wrong have I done now?”

His father looks slightly distracted then. “Wrong? What are you speaking about Jon?”

Of course his father would not remember, his father had not been good at remembering things like this as of late. Jon looks at him and takes a deep breath before responding. “The last time we spoke, you reprimanded me for spending too much time with the prince and not enough time with my sisters. And yet you have done worse than I have.”

His father looks at him a moment. “Now is not the time for this Jon.”

Anger flares within Jon then, and Ghost begins to pace at his side. “Then when is the right time to speak about it father?”

His father looks at him as if seeing him for the first time then, and that really angers Jon, how can his father do this to him? “When we are safe away from King’s Landing.”

That surprises Jon then. “What? Why would we leave King’s Landing? We cannot leave until we swear a vow to King Joffrey.”

A look of pain crosses his father’s face then, and for a brief moment, Jon feels something like pity for his father, but then it is replaced by anger when his father says. “We must leave, and soon. It is not going to be safe for us to remain here.”

“Why?” Jon asks. “What are you speaking about father, I do not understand.”

“You must get your sisters and get them ready to leave. We must be ready to leave the moment we know for certain that Robert is dead.” father replies, ignoring Jon’s question.

“Why must we leave now father? I do not understand. King Robert named you as Lord Protector for King Joffrey, surely you must know that that means you must remain here. Fleeing now will do nothing.” Jon says.

“It is too complicated to explain now. We must get out of King’s Landing as soon as we know that King Robert is dead.” his father responds.

 “Why? What are you talking about father?” Jon asks.

“Get your sisters ready, then we shall speak.” his father responds, his lordly voice coming through then.

Normally, Jon would obey his father and hurry off to do whatever it was that had been asked of him, not today though. Today, there is something within him that wants to stand and argue with his father. “No.” he responds. “I will not go anywhere until you tell me what is going on.”

His father looks at him angrily then, and for a moment Jon considers breaking and going off to do what his father had asked of him, but then he remembers something Lucas had said to him and he remains firm. “Jon, do as you are told.” his father snaps.

White hot anger flares within him then. _How dare he tell me what to do, I am not his man, I am his son, he owes me an explanation._ Jon thinks to himself, he stands his ground and grits out. “I will not go anywhere until you give me an explanation. You have done nothing but bark orders, you have not been here with us.”

“I do not have the time for this now Jon, we must prepare to leave.” his father responds heatedly.

“The king is not even buried in the ground and you want to leave? What the hell is wrong with you father.” Jon asks, fighting to keep his anger in check.

“I do not have the time for this.” his father responds making to walk past him.

Ghost bars his way then, his lip curled into a snarl. Jon looks at his father, anger and fear competing for prominence within him. “What is wrong father? You have not been with us for some time, and I want to know why.”

“Let me past Jon, and this need not end badly. Let me go.” his father asks his voice somewhere between anger and calmness.

Jon considers allowing his father to pass, but something within him resists, and instead he says. “No, you have to tell me what is going on. You have not been here with us, since we got to King’s Landing. What in the name of the gods have you been doing?”

His father looks at him coldly then. “Let me pass Jon, and you might find out.”

There is a strangeness in his father’s voice that Jon has not heard there before, and even though he knows that perhaps he should allow his father to pass, he does not want to. And so he shakes his head and responds. “Tell me what you have been doing. I deserve that much.”

His father makes to move past him, but Ghost turns and blocks his path, teeth snarling. “Jon, enough of this nonsense. Just let me pass.” his father snaps.

“Not until you tell me why you have been ignoring your children.” Jon growls, his anger fuelling his words.

“I have been trying to protect you all.” his father snaps, sounding angry now as well.

“Protect us?” Jon snorts. “Protect us? How is ignoring us, protecting us father?”

His father looks at him surprised. “I, I have not been ignoring you. I have been doing the things needed to make sure you were all safe.”

Jon looks at his father, confusion and anger fighting to hold their place as top amongst his emotions. “Protect us from what?” he asks.

His father sighs then. “King’s Landing is not safe, surely you have realised that by now. The fact that Jon Arryn died here, and now Robert has died, before their times, I do not know what more could be done to save either of them, but I was determined to make sure that neither of their fates were what befell you or your sisters. I could not allow that. So I have tried to do what I could to find out why Jon Arryn died.”

Jon looks at his father, he already knows this, but for some reason, he does not think telling his father this would be a good idea. “Okay, and how might this protect us from whoever might seek to harm us in your mind?”

His father looks at him then and sighs. “It was meant to ensure that I knew what was to come. The more I knew about what had happened within King’s Landing before Jon Arryn’s death, the more I would be prepared for the war that was coming. I did not know it would lead to this.”

“Lead to what?” Jon asks. His mind beginning to whir into action, is his father about to reveal something that might make this task he has all the harder?

“To this, to my children feeling as though they were not cared for. I did not mean for that to happen. I was doing my task, the thing that I had told myself that I needed to do. And now look where it is has gotten us. Do Sansa and Arya feel the same?” his father asks.

Jon feels something akin to pity for his father as well as worry, he does not know why this is happening now, and not for the first time he starts wondering why his father agreed to come south, and why his father did not want him to come south. “Yes.” he replies.

His father closes his eyes then and sighs. “This is what I feared happening. Now we must leave King’s Landing and ensure that we do not leave anything behind. Or at least you and your sisters must get out of here.”

“Why?” Jon asks, frustration growing within him. “Why are you telling me this now? What are you not telling me?”

His father sighs then. “I found out things about Lord Arryn and about the royal family that does not bode well for repeating here. I do not know whether or not this is the right time to tell you this either. All I know for sure, is that Robert did not die of natural causes. He might have been a drunkard and he might not have looked after himself that well, but he was not going to die now when he did. The Queen must have had something to do with his death.”

Jon swallows nervously then. “Why do you think that father?”

“Because she wants the way cleared for her child to ascend the throne. She wishes to deny the growth of truth and justice, and to allow for more chaos and corruption to come to the realm, and for nothing to change. She wants it all to fall to pieces, and that is something I cannot allow.” his father responds.

Jon looks at his father confused then. “I do not understand, what can you not allow?”

“I cannot allow the Queen to make her lies become the truths. She will try and prevent the true nature of the truth from coming into being, and that is not something I can allow.” his father responds.

Jon looks at his father then and asks. “So are you going to try and prevent the queen from doing whatever it is you think she’d do?”

His father is silent for a long moment then and then he nods. “Yes. I cannot allow the boy to sit the throne.”

Jon feels as though he has been winded. “You would deny Prince Joffrey his right? For some petty grievance you have with the queen?”

“This has nothing to do with a petty grievance Jon. This is about rightness and justice.” his father says.

Jon looks at his father then and says. “You are doing this for some petty reason father, whether you want to admit it or not.” he takes a deep shuddering breath and then says. “You are not the man I thought you were.” With that he turns and walks out of the room his heart hammering, his eyes blurring with tears as well. He walks and walks, Ghost at his side, eventually they come to the prince’s quarters he knocks and then enters when bid.

The prince stands up then, worry clear in his voice. “What’s wrong Jon?” the prince asks.

Jon looks at his prince and then responds. “My father has turned traitor, he intends to deny you your throne Your Grace.”

Anger flashes in the prince’s eyes, and then he says. “It is alright Jon, I shall speak with Lord Stark.”


	18. Tywin I

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Casterly Rock**

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

It seemed his plans were coming to fruition, for a long time he had sat and waited, planning and making sure there was nothing that could potentially harm his plans. Robert Baratheon had ascended the throne on the back of the act that Tywin and his men had committed during the sack of King’s Landing, and instead of claiming his rightful place amongst the king’s most trusted counsellors, Tywin had been content to return to the Rock, happy at finally having his daughter as Queen of Westeros. Of course, that had all been an act, he had known from the moment that Robert had sat the iron throne, that one day there would come a time when someone would try and start an uprising. Robert was not Steffon, did not have the ability to see past his own ego, let alone the next night, the kingdoms would have fallen to chaos had Tywin not done as he had done. For the past fifteen years he had been meeting with his lords, ensuring that they remembered where they gave their fealty, as well as with various other lords within the realm, ensuring that they knew who it was who could give them the change to progress within the realm. Slowly but surely his plan had come together, and now, well now it seemed his plan was about to see the light of day. Baratheon was dead or dying, his grandson was to sit the throne, and Stark, well Stark was being moved out of the way, it was going very well, but Tywin had learned long ago that there were some things that might come into one’s path, and this time he was determined to avoid them.

That was why he had called a meeting with his closest advisors, his brother Kevan, their cousin Lord Damon Marbrand, and finally Maester Creylen, all of whom Tywin trusted implicitly. He looks around the room, noting the earliness of the hour by the expressions on their faces. Kevan seems alert but tired, Damon seems to be alert as well, though his eyes betray tiredness, only Creylen is truly completely awake, and that is because he is used to Tywin’s odd hours. He looks at them all and then says. “You all know why you are here, Robert Baratheon is not long for this world, if he is not already gone from it. I intend to make sure that my grandson Prince Joffrey does not make a mess of things, or rather, that his mother does not make a mess of things. It is time for the lion to reclaim its rightful place at the right hand of the throne. Stark is an obstacle, and one that is best placed to be removed. Kevan, how go things on that front?”

His brother is silent for a moment, contemplating his answer, and then he says. “It goes well, Stark has fallen for the trap we set for him all those years ago my lord. It seems he is wavering between his commitment to Robert Baratheon’s memory, and keeping the oath he thought he swore. Soon enough he will slip, and when he does there will be no net there to stop his fall.”

Tywin looks at his brother approvingly. “Good, Stark is a pain now, but once we finally receive word of Baratheon’s death, then he will become a serious obstacle to achieving the plans that we have worked so long on. That is something that I cannot allow. Now what of Pycelle, what word does that man bring? There will be more than he lets on in the letters. Creylen?”

The maester is an old man, has been with them since Tywin was a babe, perhaps even before then, but he is still sharp, and is smarter than any man that Tywin has ever met, apart from himself of course. “Pycelle remains loyal as always my lord. He continues to report on the movements of the council. Slynt’s death was noted, and he suggested Bywater to Stark to not appear as if he had a different motive. Considering that Bywater has now been appointed as commander, it seems Stark and the king still take the man seriously.”

Tywin nods. “That is good, Slynt was a waste of breath, not a man I want continuing to serve on the city watch. I want you to send instructions to Pycelle, tell him he is to begin the purge of the City Watch by directing Bywater. Stark might well oppose him on the grounds of honour, but Stark will not be able to overwhelm the will of the king.”

“Do you believe the king will support this measure my lord?” Kevan asks. “After all, he is a boy of only twelve, and he has grown up hearing of Stark from his father. No doubt, he would wish to trust the advice that the man gives him.”

Tywin looks at his brother a moment and then responds. “The king will do as he is told. He is not of age, and therefore cannot make any serious decisions. I have more members of that council on my side than Stark does. Baelish knows what I have on him and as such will remain supporting our cause for as long as that remains the case. As for Pycelle, well he is a given. Stannis is not there, the eunuch will support the status quo, and Renly, that boy will do what he wants.”

A moment’s silence passes then, and eventually Maester Creylen says. “It shall be as you ask my lord. I shall send the order off today itself.”

Tywin nods, and then turns his attention back to his brother. “Now, what other word do you have for me from elsewhere within the kingdoms brother?”

His brother looks down at the notes before him, and then says. “The Darrys are still not back at their castle, it seems they are completely serious about restoring the order to its former state my lord. They are visiting all those old lords who supported it once upon a time.”

“And how have their overtures been received?” Tywin asks.

His brother seems nervous about replying, and for a moment Tywin dreads the response he is going to get, and then his brother replies. “Some such as the Brackens have responded enthusiastically. Others such as the Blackwoods have told them where they can go. That is only in the Riverlands though, they might well try to get toward the Reach where there remains some strong Targaryen loyalty, and that is not even to say of Dorne.”

Tywin nods, Dorne that was the one kingdom he had never understood, not truly. Joanna had been friends with Princess Loreza, but they were both long dead, and well, any sort of feeling he had had for Dorne had died with Joanna. “They will not get to the Reach. They need to get back to their own lands, before the Freys begin looking at it with hungry eyes. Walder Frey knows what he can gain by pressing such a claim.”

“Lord Walder seems as if he might be fading into the end my lord.” Kevan responds.

“What?” Tywin snaps surprised. “When did this happen?”

“It is a recent development my lord.” his brother assures him. “It seems age is finally beginning to catch up with the Lord of the Crossing, and just when his heir Ser Stevron has headed north to speak with Lady Catelyn I believe.”

“Do you know why the man has gone there?” Tywin asks. He had been quite concerned when he had learned that Stevron Frey had left the Twins for the first time in some fifteen years. That was never a good sign when Walder Frey walked out of the line that they had set, for only Lord Walder would send his son anywhere.

His brother nods. “It seems Frey has gone northward, to speak of an old alliance between Frey and Tully, and it seems that Ser Stevron has been sent to remind Lady Catelyn of that alliance.”

Tywin considers this for a moment. “Interesting that Frey has gone to the north, and not to Riverrun. One would think that Walder Frey, being the man he is, would want to remind his liege lord of this alliance. Unless of course, he was too afraid to do so. But then. Lord Hoster has not been the intimidating man that he once was for some time now. There is more going on here.”

His brother nods in agreement. “I believe there is a preparation for war going on my lord. And I think Lord Eddard is the one leading to this, the man has never trusted our family, and now with Robert Baratheon dead or nearing death he intends to use his power as the king’s friend to take control.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Tywin responds, he turns to look at Damon Marbrand, the man he had put in charge of training the men at Ashemark and near Castamere. “Tell me Damon, how goes the training of the men?”

His cousin takes a moment to think and then says. “It goes well my lord, the shield formations are progressing quite nicely, as are the pike formations. Give it another day or two, and we shall be ready for complete engagement on foot. The horse formations are doing well as well. They are the best I have ever seen them.”

“Good, and you have been getting co-operation from the other lords?” Tywin asks, keeping a note of the shifting expression on his cousin’s face.

His cousin seems to take some time, considering his response. Eventually he says. “They are co-operating my lord. There has been some grumbling about the new formations for the shield and pike formations, but other than that they are quite happy to be training. They seem eager for the fighting to come.”

“Good that is very good.” Tywin responds. He turns to look at Creylen then and says. “Tyrion has sent word has he not?”

“He has my lord.” the maester responds. “He is making his way back to King’s Landing as we speak, and should be there before the end of the moon.”

Tywin nods, the dwarf has been a pain for him since he was born, there are just some things that he cannot seem to get right there. The dwarf is smart, he does not deny that, but he does not put his thinking to the right use, preferring instead to whore and drink. He still remembers that whore, what was her name? Tysha? Ah yes, her, he still remembers the embarrassment that little ordeal caused, he taught his son a lesson then as he did that girl. He shakes his head then, before turning back to Kevan. “The Vances have not changed their tune from the last time that you communicated with them?”

His brother shakes his head. “They have not changed their stance brother. They remain as committed as ever to pursuing the plan as we outlined to them many years ago. They have many grievances with Riverrun, and would not hesitate to see it burn.”

Tywin thinks on this, the Tullys have always struggled to control their bannermen, he remembers what it was like hearing of the struggles in the riverlands during the Blackfyre rebellions, no wonder Hoster turned out as he did, a ruthless man is needed for that kingdom, and with Hoster ailing and his son being as he is, well there is a chance of a lifetime there. “Send word to them that the time has come for them to begin their role in this.”

“I will my lord.” his brother responds.

“And remind them that there is a reward there for them at the end, if they do it right.” Tywin says, before he turns to look at Damon. “Bring the men closer toward the border, by the time the letter comes of my goodson’s death I want the men ready to march. Creylen send word out, the lords are to bring their men here before the moon ends. We ride to war soon.”


	19. Ned VI

****

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

His conversation with Jon had not gone as well as he had hoped it would. His son was angry, as he rightfully should have been, Ned saw that now, had seen how his actions could be construed to suggest that he did not care, that was not the truth, but how could Jon know that? His son, gods, there was so much he still needed to tell his son, and yet he knew that he might not get the chance to tell him that now. After Jon had left, word had come, Robert was dead, the prince was now the rightful king, and by rights, Ned was the lord protector, and yet he had never gotten the chance to make the necessary arrangements. Men had come, the Kingsguard, and the city watch, they had come and arrested him for conspiring to commit treason, and he had known, he had just known Jon had gone and told the prince. He was not surprised, Jon was good friends with the prince, and to some small extent Ned was relieved about that, but at the same time, he was worried, the prince was not someone that could be trusted, there was much and more that he needed to tell his son, but he would never get that chance now. He had been thrown into the black cells soon after he had been arrested, and he had seen no one since then, he had no idea of what was happening in the outside world, only that he was aching and tired and hungry. For some reason he was having trouble remembering what had happened in the weeks leading up to Robert’s death, but he knew there were things going on, things that he needed to do.

He hears the sound of footsteps nearby and calls out. “Who is there?” There is no reply, and he begins wondering if he is hearing things. He wonders what became of his household, Jory, Vayon, all of them, would the prince or the Queen have had them killed? Or will they go to Jon now? His son, gods there is so much he needs to tell the boy, but he does not know whether or not his son would listen to him even if he did tell him. His son had been in no mood to listen to him when he had tried to explain about the prince and the lies the Queen had told. How had it come to this? He has found himself wondering that many times since he was arrested, how he had allowed himself to make the same mistakes his father had made. Spending so much time looking into something and not spending his time with his children, that was how Brandon and Lyanna had been led to their deaths, in a desperate bid to get father’s attention. Gods he is such a fool. He hears the pattering of someone’s feet nearby and calls out. “Who is there?”

There is no response, and once more he finds himself wondering if he is going mad, and then the door to his cell opens and a figure is standing there, a torch blaring, he squints, and looks. The figure is hooded, and there is a distinct odour about them, something familiar. “My lord hand, you are not well.” the voice says, deep.

It takes him a moment but then he places the voice. “Varys?” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

The man does not titter as Ned has come to expect from him, instead he seems to straighten. “I have come to speak with you. To tell you of what has happened since you were arrested, and to give you some advice.”

Ned looks at the man intrigued then. “What has happened to my children? Has the Queen captured them? Or are they safe?”

There is a moment’s silence then, and Ned feels his heart begin to quicken, he wonders whether the man has been sent here by the queen herself, he shakes his head then, reminding himself, Cersei is no Queen. “Your son is well, the prince keeps him close, and your eldest daughter is safe as well, she remains with the princess. As for your youngest daughter, she has disappeared. There is no sight of her, though her dancing master has disappeared as well. I must say, I am impressed that you got a former First sword to teach her how to fight.”

Ned breathes a sigh of relief then, his children are safe, and then the last part of what Varys had said sinks in. “What do you mean she is missing?”

“When the Queen sent her men to go find her, they found nothing. She was not in the tower of the hand, nor was she where she normally has her sparring lessons. She was nowhere to be found, nor was her teacher. The Queen has decided that she is nothing to be worried over, but we both know that is not the case, and have known for such a long time. That is why you got her a teacher is it not my lord?” the eunuch says.

Ned looks at the man then, and sighing he responds. “Aye, I wanted her to have the chance. A chance my sister never had.”

“A chance that might well have ended up saving her life my lord. You should be happy about that, she is nowhere to be found, and most likely will not be found until she wants to be. That was one of the few smart things you did.” the eunuch responds.

Ned looks at the man and laughs. “Have you come to judge me Varys?”

“Oh nothing like that, I have come as I said I would. To inform you of what has been happening since your imprisonment. As I am sure you know, since your wife left King’s Landing, many interesting things have been happening within the realm at large.” the eunuch says pausing for effect. Ned stares at him and then the man continues. “The Darrys have finally returned to their castle, and are beginning to put into motion a plan they have had for many years.”

Ned looks at the man, not quite sure what he is speaking of for a moment and then remembering. “So they are actually going to raise the dragon’s standard then are they?”

The eunuch nods. “Aye, that they are, and they will be doing so with the support of the Brackens and others within the riverlands. Of course, given the fact that Tywin Lannister has invaded the Riverlands, they will be fighting under the Tully banner for some time, and of course the banner of your son.”

That news shocks Ned. “What do you mean?”

The eunuch laughs then, a deep resounding sound, a familiar sound to Ned, though he does not know where he has heard it before. “The Vances are the ones who paved the way for Tywin Lannister to enact a plan he has been working on since the end of the rebellion. They began attacking some small outposts on the borders of the Westerlands, prompting Tywin to send a strong worded letter to Riverrun, which he got no response to, and when the Vances flew the Tully banner on their next raid, why that gave Lannister the perfect excuse he needed to retaliate. He sent Gregor Clegane and some three thousand men into the riverlands they destroyed the Vances and are now burning through the riverlands. Your goodfather summoned the banners, and there has been a fight, Edmure Tully commanding the fighting force was defeated and sent retreating, Tywin Lannister is marching into the riverlands as we speak. Your son Robb Stark is coming south with an army, to aid his family and to rescue from the cell here.”

“But he is only a boy.” Ned gasps.

“A boy, who has come to save his father, because of his father’s mistakes.” Varys responds. “Pray tell me my lord, what did you think would happen, when you began your searches? You were not exactly subtle.”

Ned looks at the man, hunger and desperation making his vision blur, his words are not as coherent as he would like them to be. At least he thinks they are not. “I was only trying to do what I thought was right. I needed to know why Jon Arryn died, and I now know the truth about the Queen’s children.”

“And you put a large target on your back, as well as that of your children. The Queen contemplated having your son killed as an example, but decided against it because the prince decided not to allow her to do that. Overriding her as king. Tell me my lord, did you speak with the Queen?” Varys asks.

Ned thinks back, and tries to think on what has happened some time ago. “Yes.” he says.

“Are you sure of that?” the man asks.

Ned thinks on it once more, and responds. “Yes, I am sure of it. Why would I not be?”

The man shakes his head then. “You did not meet with her my lord. You did not confront her about the truth of her children’s heritage. You imagined that.”

“What? How could I imagine that?” Ned asks.

“Pycelle.” the eunuch responds. “That time he came to meet with you, to warn you about Baelish, he slipped something into your drinks, and now you are paying the price for it.”

Ned feels surprised then. He does not know what to think, or what to say. He just feels as if he is floating around, doing nothing, absolutely nothing. “What will happen to me?” he asks then.

The eunuch looks at him a moment and then says. “The king is considering pardoning you and sending you off to the watch. Whilst the Queen wants you removed for good. I do believe, that one of them will come to you soon enough, to offer you the chance of taking the black, if you will confess to treason.”

Ned stares long and hard at the eunuch then, thinking through what he has said, considering his options, eventually he says. “I will not admit to committing treason. That boy is not the rightful king, nor are his siblings Robert’s. The true king is sitting in Dragonstone if you are a Baratheon loyalist, and if you are a Targaryen one, then King Viserys is the true king.”

“Ah yes,” the eunuch says then. “That. You are still sticking to that oath then are you my lord?”

Ned nods. “Yes, I am. I made a mistake during the rebellion, and I intend to sort that out.”

“Even if it sees your children killed because of it?” the eunuch asks.

“They will be safe.” Ned says. “I have made sure of it.”

“Your child Arya would be, she is not in King’s Landing that is true. But the other two, why they would die the moment the words left your lips. Do you truly want that? Even for a mad king?” Varys asks.

“They would not die.” Ned repeats stubbornly.

The eunuch laughs then, a deep sound. “Why because of those men you put in place? My lord those men are dead now. I saw to it myself. Your children would die, if you even so much as tried to support Viserys.”

Ned feels horror float into his mind then. “What would you have me do?”

“Take the black my lord. Take the black and live to fight another day. An oath made with a sword over your head, is no oath after all. Your children would still have their father, and your wife would have her husband back. Do not let Littlefinger win, just for some sense of an oath made to a dying woman.” Varys responds.

Ned thinks on it then, he really thinks on it, thinks of the sleepless nights he has said since he made that oath so long ago, he thinks of the relief he would feel letting someone else take over that charge, and then he thinks of his children. He looks at the eunuch and says. “Very well then. When will they come to make this offer?”

“Tomorrow.” the eunuch responds, before he turns and disappears from Ned’s view.


	20. Jon VII

****

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Since father had been arrested a lot had happened, Ser Jaime had been sent from King’s Landing to the Westerlands, to aid Lord Tywin in dealing with the traitorous Riverlords, Jon had been put in charge of father’s household, who were strangely enough taking his appointment as the head of the Stark household reasonably well. Arya was missing, and her dancing teacher had gone with her, and despite his numerous attempts to find her, they had all turned up empty, he was worried, his sister despite trying to act contrary to this, was just a little girl, and that dancing master was someone Jon had never met before, and was not too sure what to make of. So much was happening, the Riverlords had turned traitor, they were raiding into the Westerlands, and Lord Tywin was dealing back their own medicine, even Robb was getting involved in the treachery, and that was something Jon was not sure he could understand. He had written a letter to Robb, as had father, the king had told him that, and still his brother insisted on marching down south with an army, it was something he could not understand.

As head of the household, with father’s arrest, Jon was technically responsible for Sansa, but considering father’s treachery, he thought it was reasonable that he saw her only when supervised. He would not commit treason, of course he would not, but he could not fault the king for being careful. The king had spoken to him yesterday, and had said that an offer had been made to father, if he would admit to his treason, he would be allowed to take the black, and thankfully father had accepted. They were walking to the Great Sept of Baelor now, having left their horses behind them. Jon did not like the sept, thought it a strange and foul place, but he was beginning to understand some of the symbolism behind doing this, and as such was willing to put his disgust at the place behind him. As he walked, Sansa was beside him and he spoke to her softly. “You are well?” he asks, he has never really gotten along with Sansa, does not know what to make of her at the best of times, but he knows that she must be taking this all very hard.

Sansa nods. “I am, I am a bit nervous though. I still don’t quite understand why father would have done what he was going to do. I thought he and King Robert were friends.”

Jon sighs then, he has had a hard time believing it himself, and some small part of him thinks that father would not have done this for no reason, but that is only a small part, the larger part thinks that father was really no different than anyone else here. “I think he and King Robert had a falling out before the king’s death. I heard shouting during that time, but I am not sure. I think father said to me that he could not allow the Queen to get power, because of some grievance he has with her.”

His sister looks at him surprised then. “Really? Father would do something, because of a grievance? I did not think that was like him.”

Jon nods in agreement. “Neither did I, but remember what he did to Lord Whitehill?” Sansa nods. “That was done because father did not like him. I think father is not as pure as he wants us all to think.”

Sansa looks troubled at this thought, but nods all the same. “That is true, he spent far too much time doing other things. Arya never liked that, she always thought he was spending more time trying to be with his friend, than with us.”

Something that father had said during their argument comes floating into his mind, and he grimaces slightly. “Aye, I think he got too caught up in doing that, and didn’t stop to think that perhaps there were more important things to do.” There is a brief pause and then Jon looks at Sansa and whispers. “I am sorry Sansa.”

His sister looks at him confused then.  “Whatever for Jon?”

Jon swallows, feeling slightly uncomfortable, and then says. “For not spending more time with you before all of this. I know that was not right, and I promise you things will be different from now on. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

His sister smiles at him then, a rather cute smile he thinks. “Thank you Jon, and I you. I am sorry for the way I treated you in Winterfell, I did not think before then.”

Jon waves a hand dismissively, though he finds himself quite happy at that. “It is nothing, you did not know any better.”

Silence falls between them as they continue walking to the sept, it is getting closer and closer now, and Jon feels something akin to apprehension running through him, he is not sure why though, and he tries to write it off as nothing more than nonsensical fear. His father will make the right choice, surely he will? After all, his father knows the error of his ways, always told Jon that there was nothing worse than seeing you have done something wrong and not admitting to it and trying to make a change. Suddenly, Sansa speaks breaking the silence. “Where do you think Arya is?” she asks.

Jon looks at his sister a moment and then whispers. “She most likely will be trying to get back to Winterfell, I think. She has wanted to go home since we left Winterfell no doubt that is where she and Nymeria are going.”

“Do you think her dancing master went with her?” Sansa asks.

Jon thinks on this a moment and then nods. “I think so, otherwise, she will not survive. She might be many things, but she does not know how to survive out in the wildness by herself.”

Sansa nods. “Do you think she will be safe?”

Jon thinks on this a moment and then says. “I think she will be.”

Silence falls on them once more, and this time it seems it shall be final, for they have come to the Great Sept. Their party stops as the High Septon comes forward, nodding to the king, before saying. “Who is the head of the Stark household now?”

Jon having been made aware of the procedure for this, steps forward and says loudly and clearly. “I am.”

The High Septon looks at him, and then at Ghost who is at his side, and says nothing for a moment before saying. “Very well, step forward Jon Snow.” Jon steps forward and notes something strangely familiar about this High Septon, he is not sure what this might be, for this is the first time he can remember meeting the man. “Once Eddard Stark has said his piece, you shall be required to accept the office of head of House Stark, and to promise to swear this by the seven, are you willing to do this?”

A part of Jon wants to say no and to spit on this false man, but a larger part of him is whispering encouragement, telling him that this is what should happen, that this is what needs to be done. “Yes.” he says finally. “I shall do this.”

“Good then we may proceed.” The High Septon says, and they all walk toward the front of the Great Sept, as he steps outside, Jon is surprised at how many people there are outside waiting, there must be at least most of the people of King’s Landing here, it surprises him.

There is a moment’s silence on the front where Jon is, and a hush falls over the crowd as well, as men bring forth his father, Lord Stark is bound in chains, he looks haggard and worn, Jon is surprised by this, but quickly looks at the king who is standing there, looking regal in yellow and black, the colours of his house, and feels something reassuring about the king’s presence. The silence stretches on for a long moment as the men who brought his father here sort out something or the other, eventually they finish and walk to the side. An expectant hush falls on them all then, and finally his father speaks. “I am Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. I am here because, before my friend and King, Robert Baratheon’s body was cold, I conspired with his brother Lord Stannis Baratheon to place him on the throne.” The crowd begins to boo, and Jon feels something akin to shock and anger rage within him. “I did this, because I thought to further my own place within the court. I did not want to see the Lannisters gain more power, and I had thought to ensure that my family could gain more power. I did this knowing full well that Stannis Baratheon was nothing but a usurper, and that he would kill the innocent children of my friend.” The crowd is growing in anger now, people are shouting things, throwing things, and Jon looks on in horror as something hits his father’s face. His father shakes and then goes still, and continues. “I am not as honourable or as decent as I thought I was. And I am here today, to ask for the forgiveness of the rightful king, Joffrey of the House Baratheon. I beg his pardon, and ask for him to forgive my wrongness and my sinfulness.”

Jon looks at his father, and sees something that looks like complete hatred on his face, he feels like laughing, even though his father is doing something that might well spare them all the fallout from his foolishness he still cannot seem to accept that. Honour, or at least his father’s type of honour is no doubt what is making him look like that. The High Septon stands forward then, and in a loud voice that silences the crowd says. “As we sin, we are forgiven. Lord Stark here, has admitted to his crime, and has asked the king for his forgiveness. He has repented before you all and before that great man King Baelor the Blessed, and the Seven. Pray tell us Your Grace, what will your answer be?”

Jon feels his heart hammering in his chest when he sees the king step forward. He knows that the king will pardon his father, he just knows it, and yet he cannot help but feel nervous. The king steps forward then and says. “My betrothed the Lady Sansa, and my friend, and Lord Stark’s own son Jon, have both asked me to spare their father, and to forgive him his foolishness, to send him to the Night’s Watch, where he might not do any harm to anyone. My mother on the other hand thinks that he should be executed as a traitor, as would have happened under the Targaryens.”  There is a long pause then, and Jon feels his heart hammer even quicker in his chest, he wonders what the king is getting at. There is a very present hush in the crowd now, and then the king continues speaking. “I can see why both sides would argue as they would. Stark is a good man, an honourable one who might have done what he thought was the right thing, however, he was wrong, and has admitted as such, and to punish him further for that, would not be fair. However, he did make an accusation that is most untrue and it would not do to allow him to get away without sufficient punishment. His son is after all rebelling against the throne. I will not do as the Targaryens do, I will pardon Lord Stark and send him to the wall, but his descendants shall not be Wardens of the North so long as his son remains in rebellion.”

Jon breathes a sigh of relief then, thanking the gods above for this small mercy, when suddenly he hears a shout and then something is whirring towards them all. With horror he sees that it is an arrow and it has buried itself in his father, another one comes and lands in his father’s chest, followed by another one and another. And then a shout goes out. “You are no king Joffrey Baratheon. Long Live the Dragons, Long Live the Dragons. Long Live the Golden Shoal.” Another arrow hits his father then, and Jon screams with grief as he sees his father fall down, blood pooling out of his wounds.


	21. Jaime I

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. Riverlands**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

Stark had been a fool, he had been walking a treacherous route for some time before he had been arrested, and he had been bumbling around like a chicken without a head for some time before that. That he had been arrested had come as no surprise to Jaime, the man was far too much of a threat whether he was smart or not, to allow to live. With Stark in a cell somewhere within the bowels of the Red Keep, Jaime had been sent off by the king to the Riverlands, to aid his father in destroying the resistance that was growing within it. They had won a clear victory at the Golden Tooth and at Wayfarer’s Rest putting the Vances to the sword, and forcing the other Vances to do them fealty, so far it was going well, they held Edmure Tully prisoner. But as always with war there was more that needed to be done. Robb Stark was marching south with an army of angry northmen at his side, and Riverrun still held out despite the fact that the heir to Riverrun was dangling by a life’s thread. His father had called a war council to discuss what they were going to do, and so that was where Jaime was now, listening intently to his father talk.

“No doubt Hoster Tully made sure that there was enough food brought in before he sent his son off to war. Riverrun’s garrison might well be able to hold out against a siege for another six months. That is time we do not have. Action must be taken and soon, before reinforcements come from the more disparate areas.” his father says.

Jaime looks at his father, and notes the tired lines across his face, his father was getting old, was old as it were, but there was still a sense of strength and purpose to him. “How do you suggest we proceed with that my lord?” Jaime asks.

His father looks at him then, assessing him, his gaze piercing and relentless. “Robb Stark is coming south with an army of northmen, that much we know. It would not be too much of a stretch to think that the Freys will side with him. Stevron Frey most likely went north to remind the boy of the alliance his father had struck with Walder during the rebellion. We must make sure that Stark does not have enough time to get to Riverrun.”

“So you would suggest sending a host against him then?” Jaime questions.

“Yes, I would. Stark’s heir is untested and he is a green boy. His commanders are men who are all quite divisive in and amongst themselves, they shall be testing him, trying to see where his weaknesses lie, and where they might be able to force something out of him. We must needs exploit that.” his father responds.

Jaime looks at the map before them then, and thinks hard. “The Tumblestone is not such an insurmountable obstacle that we cannot cross it. Of course, I do not think you would want the entire Lannister army to leave the siege to take on Stark. Therefore I suggest we divided the host into three, one portion remains here laying siege to the castle and guarding Ser Edmure, one portion crosses the Tumblestone and begins a raiding campaign through the Whispering Wood and up near Oldstones, and the third portion march southward toward King’s Landing.”

There is a moment’s silence as his father’s lords consider this, and then Lord Brax speaks. “We do not know how many men  Stark might have brought south with him, and if the Freys are siding with him, then would it not perhaps be wiser to keep two thirds of the army together, to ensure that we are not outnumbered?”

Jaime looks at the man, Brax is an old man now, he was once a confident soldier, but age has made him cautious. “I do not think so.” Jaime responds. “We must take the attack to Stark, no doubt, he will expect us to bring two thirds of our army up to meet him, and he might well therefore split his own host into two, to cause a diversion. We must make sure that he regrets that. The element of surprise is crucial.”

“I agree with Ser Jaime.” Lord Crakehall says. “Stark is a green boy, and as such, I have a feeling it will be men like the Greatjon and Roose Bolton who will actually be doing the planning and the commanding of his men. We must make sure that we do not fall into their traps.”

Jaime looks at his cousin Lord Damon Marbrand and asks. “My lord, how goes the training of the shield walls?”

“It goes well Ser.” his cousin replies. “The men are growing more confident with every passing day. Soon enough they shall be near indestructible.”

Jaime nods, that is good, he had seen the shield wall in action at the Golden Tooth, and at Wayfarer’s Rest, it was something to behold. It had sent the fear of god into some of the rivermen, and might well have contributed toward their defeat. He looks at his father then, and sees that the man is looking at him intently, the old desire to impress the man flares up then. “What do you think father? Do you think the shield wall should come north with me or not?”

His father is silent for a long moment, as if contemplating whether or not he trusts Jaime enough with this tool of war, or whether he wants to keep it to himself. Eventually the man says. “The shield wall shall come with me Jaime. We do not want to give our enemy too much knowledge of what it is we might be doing or planning. I shall take command of the host heading toward King’s Landing, you head north and deal with Stark. Lord Brax, remain here, and command the siege.” They all murmur their agreement at this and then the meeting comes to an end, Jaime stands then and walks out of the tent, his thoughts a whir with activity. He knows what needs to be done, he knows Patrek Mallister and Marq Piper have been raiding near their supply lines, they are the two he will need to deal with first, and he knows just how to do it.

Soon enough he and the men under his command have set off from their camp, leaving Riverrun and its accompanying siege behind them, as he rides, he feels the thrill of battle beginning to enter him. It has been some nine years since he fought in the Greyjoy rebellion, and five since he fought against the Shoal Brigands, in some ways he is looking forward to this battle. The northmen are hardy men, and good fighters, perhaps they will be more of a challenge than the rivermen who they are coming to aid. It does not take too long after leaving Riverrun for them to come across a Riverlord raiding party, this one led by Adam Rivers, the bastard brother of Lord Mallister. The fighting is brief and to the point, Rivers is slain, as are his men, and Jaime knows that not one survived, none will send a message to Patrek Mallister or Piper, and he and his men ride on.

They ride and ride, and eventually come across a small band of men with no banners, but Jaime does not want to take any chances and therefore, he and his men attack these men cutting them down and reducing them to nothing but bone and ash. Soon enough they are done, and on they ride. The Whispering Wood is a thick forest, and one that Jaime would not like to get lost in, for he does not think that ones who get lost within the forest could truly survive here, not for long, not with the stories he has heard. But then again, they are only stories are they not? They are not the truth, not really. His thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of horns blowing, so this is where they are then is it? Stark and his companions. Jaime bellows a challenge and goes riding out to meet those who are appearing through the forest to meet him and his men.

Jaime draws his sword, and a change comes across him, as has so often happened when he fights. There is no other thought in his mind, but that of fighting. He swings his sword as the enemy comes towards him, cutting one man down, watching as that man screams to see his hand cut off, Jaime moves on, fighting a big bull of a man, ducking and dodging that man’s swings, Jaime ends up inside the man’s guard and guts him. He does not stop to see the man’s guts fall from his stomach, instead he moves on, and his men follow. He swings his sword as more men come spilling out of the forest and the trees, they all meet his sword, and some survive, losing limbs, others die, their blood staining his sword.  Regardless of what happens, he moves on and continues swinging his sword, watching as the northmen continue appearing out of the woodwork, something is going on here, he can sense it, but he does not know what that might be.

He and his men fight, and gods do they fight, he thinks that perhaps he should have been more insistent on taking the shield wall with him, but he thinks that perhaps that would not have made a difference now. These northmen are fighting with a ferocity he has never seen before, actually, that is a lie, he has seen it once before, when he fought the Shoal Bandits, but he does not know whether the two styles would match one another. Regardless, he continues fighting, his sword stained red, his armour dented in several places, but there is one thing on his mind, if he can get to Stark, he can end this fight now, and this war might be over. That thought gives him the strength to push through his pain, and continue fighting.

There are more men here than he thought, Stark must not have sent another force off down toward the Green Fork, or if he has, it is a small force, it seems he has been outwitted by a boy. More men are appearing than he or his men have the stomach to fight. It was a clever plan this, force them to fight with a ferocity early on, and then when the time came, launch the surprise attack on them when they were too tired to keep fighting. A smart move, and one that Jaime approves of, even if it means that they might lose this battle. Not all hope is lost though, he can see Stark nearby, and he roars a challenge and then begins cutting his way through the men in his way. His sword feels like a heavy weight in his arms as he swings it, there is something going on, something more than the trap they have just launched themselves into, it feels as if they have walked into something else here, he does not know why he feels that way but he does.

He cuts down a boy with a moose on his armour, sees the boy squirm before eventually dying, he cuts down a monster of a man with a roaring giant on his armour, and then comes face to face with a woman with a bear on her armour. He fights her, and comes very close to dying himself,  before he gets inside the woman’s guard and knocks her down with a quick one two parry and blow. He moves onto face two boys with the sun of winter on their armour, he kills one and badly wounds the other, and then Stark is in sight, gods he is so close, and then there is movement underneath him and his horse falls down arrows in it. He blinks once, twice, and then jumps off of his horse, to find several swords pointing at his throat.


	22. Tyrion I

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

There were times when Tyrion would find himself beginning to talk to someone who was not there, and he would have to catch himself, before people began whispering that he was mad. He had spent a fair bit of time away from King’s Landing, and had almost forgotten just how poisonous the atmosphere could be here. The time he had spent at the wall had been fun and informative, he had learned a lot about the people who manned it, and what was needed to ensure that it continued running, that was information he planned on using soon enough. Furthermore, whilst at the wall, he had had a chance to speak with Benjen Stark and had learned a fair few interesting things, it seemed there was something Stark was hiding about his past, something that had forced him to go northwards, to the wall, despite being the second in line to the winter throne when his brother had come back from the rebellion. It was interesting, he had thought, learning about people over a few drinks, everyone was more likely to talk after they had had a few, that was something that was most definitely going to pay him some good here in the viper’s nest. His time travelling southward after the wall had been an intriguing time, there was clearly something going on within the realm, the north was filled with tension, or rather had been, and now, well now he knew why. It seemed his family had a habit of seeing off important hostages dead. His father had named him hand until he could come south, and so now he was faced with the difficult task of getting things in order.

“I cannot believe that father sent you here. I asked for him, and he sent you. What was he thinking?” Cersei asks disbelievingly.

 _Fool, you are undermining our position here._ Tyrion thinks to himself, aloud though he says. “Well he does have a war to fight sweet sister. And as such, I think he knows that I would be of more use here, than on a battlefield. That is what Jaime is for after all.”

His sister snorts then. “And look at what good that has done us. Jaime allowed himself to be beaten by a boy, and his army was scattered, what sort of game was he playing?”

Tyrion looks at his sister, and he desperately wants to yell at her, but he keeps his mouth shut for a moment, looking at the king then, who seems to be staring at his mother with such adamant loathing, it is quite disturbing. Eventually he speaks and says. “I think he was playing the game of war and sometimes, sweet sister, it does not always go your way. Stark no doubt had help from his commanders as well as his uncle the Blackfish, Jaime was always going to be facing a tough battle.”

His sister stares at him for a long moment and then responds. “Why did father not give him access to the men who had been training then? It would have made sense, and Stark would not have been expecting it. Why did he prevent them from going with Jaime?”

Before Tyrion can respond, the king speaks. “Because, he knew that if he had allowed them to go with Uncle Jaime, then things would already be known. Those men are not the quickest to march, and they needed to spring a surprise on Stark. That Stark did it to Uncle Jaime, is just a thing of war.”

Tyrion is quite surprised by the words his nephew says, he did not remember the boy being this articulate the last time he saw him. Although, truth be told, he had been rather drunk then. However, his sister it seems has something else in mind. “What would you know of the ways of war Joffrey? Jaime is an experienced commander, as is my father, he would’ve known that the shield men were necessary.”

A dark look passes over the king’s face then, and Tyrion closes his eyes as he braces for what he knows is about to come next. “What would I know of war?” the king asks. “What would I know of war? I might not know of the damned fighting, but I know of strategy mother. And I would remind you that I am the king.”

There is a deep anger in the boy’s voice then, and Tyrion has to remind himself not to laugh, otherwise he might be on the end of the boy’s anger. Clearing his voice he says. “Quite right as well Your Grace. Now, sweet sister, as the king has said, father would have known that sending the shield men with Jaime would have taken far too much time. Time that they did not have. They needed to get the attack going from the off, and so they did. That Stark managed to get the surprise on Jaime, I think was just luck.”

Cersei seems to be about to agree with him, but then before she can speak the king speaks. “I disagree.”

Tyrion looks at the boy surprised. “My king?” he asks.

“I would not put what Stark did to Uncle Jaime down to luck. Uncle Jaime has always been over confident and cocky, I do not think his capture is a great loss after all, we still have Ser Barristan here with us. No, I think Stark had a plan and he knew just what to do to make Uncle Jaime fall for it.” the king responds, there is a brief moment’s silence and then the king asks. “The man who came back, what did he say?”

Tyrion looks at the boy, unsure of how to respond, he really does not know whether he was very drunk the last time he spoke to his nephew, or whether or not the boy has grown up severely. “What did they say?” the boy asks him again.

Tyrion blinks then. “He said that there were raiding parties within the Whispering Wood that came and drew them ever deeper into the wood.”

The king claps his hands then. “That is how he did it then. He drew Uncle Jaime in, and dangled something in front of him.”

Tyrion hears his sister snort then. “I do not think Robb Stark is smart enough to come up with a plan like that.”

“Why not?” the king asks.

Tyrion shuffles around in his seat, he feels nervous, not for himself, but for his sister, he suspects she might just have walked into a trap. “He is a boy, a boy who has not fought a battle let alone a war before. His commanders do not know how Jaime thinks or fights, I do not see why he would have come up with this plan.”

Tyrion sees his nephew’s face go dark red then, anger blooming quite obviously on his face, he begins feeling something akin to nervousness flowing through him. Before his nephew can explode he speaks. “I think you are vastly underestimating Robb Stark sister. Young he might be, but there is a fierceness about him, as well as a smartness, he knew well enough to send a small host down toward the Green Fork In case father was waiting there. He knew enough to make sure he had the Freys on his side before he marched. He is not a fool.”

His sister looks at him amazed. “You cannot seriously think he planned this?”

Looking at his nephew, and then at his sister he responds softly. “I think he might have done some planning yes.” His sister snorts in disbelief, but before she can keep on the matter, Tyrion changes the subject. “Tell me Lord Varys, what word is there from elsewhere within the kingdoms?”

The eunuch seems to be considering him with some interest, and Tyrion is not sure what to make of that, however, eventually, after what seems an age, the man responds. “Renly Baratheon appeared once more in Highgarden, and has proclaimed himself King of Westeros. He states that the current regime is not going to make the changes necessary for the improvement of the realm, and furthermore, he has married Margaery Tyrell.”

Tyrion laughs then. “As if that will make a difference to his campaign, the man is as interested in women as I am the seven pointed star. What else is there?”

“The Florents are remaining on the side of the Tyrells for the time being, and it seems that Renly Baratheon has offered them something to ensure they remain in line.” the eunuch responds.

“What could he have offered them that would make them be on the same side as the Tyrells?” he asks intrigued.

“The hand of Edric Storm, who he has named as Lord of Storm’s End.” the eunuch responds.

“And they accepted that?” Tyrion hears his nephew exclaim. “They must be fools. Storm is but a bastard, and the false king has no authority to legitimise him.”

There is a moment of silence and then the eunuch responds nervously. “The Starry Septon, has proclaimed himself the rightful High Septon my king, and as such has legitimised Edric Storm, and named him as the rightful Lord of Storm’s End, placing him behind Lord Renly in the traitor’s line of succession.”

There is a long moment of silence and then the king grabs a cup next to him and flings it against the wall, he stands up and throws his chair down against the ground, before saying. “I want this Starry Septon killed. I will not tolerate any such foolishness within my realm. Do you understand, do what you need to do to bring this idiot down?” With that his nephew strides from the council room slamming the door behind him.

Silence follows this display, and then Tyrion speaks. “Well that could have been worse. Had he been King Aerys, no doubt we would all be burning.”

There is some nervous laughter and then. “This is not a joking matter Tyrion. We must meet with the High Septon and ensure that he does not get any ideas.” His sister snaps.

Tyrion looks at his sister then. “I thought the High Septon was a Lannister puppet? That was what I was led to believe, from all of our previous conversations sweet sister. Is that not the case anymore?”

His sister blushes a moment and then clears her throat and says. “It is, but we must make sure that there is nothing more going on within that damned sept. We never know with the faith, we never know.”

Tyrion nods for once that is one thing he cannot argue with his sister about. He turns his attention to Varys once more. “Has anything been found out about that group that saw Eddard Stark killed?”

“There were maps found within some rooms in an inn they stayed at. They showed the whole area of the great sept, as well as some other things. Chambers within the halls of the red keep.” the eunuch responds.

Tyrion looks at his sister and then looks at Ser Jacelyn Bywater. “I want men placed at all of our rooms from now on, no more hesitating, they will be there at all times.” The man nods, and then he looks at the eunuch. “What more have you found?”

The eunuch shakes his head. “Unfortunately nothing else my lord. It seems these people, whoever they are very good at what they do.”

Tyrion nods, preparing to move onto the next topic of discussion, when suddenly the door opens and the king walks in, his face red with anger. Ser Barristan trails behind him. “Your Grace?” Tyrion asks.

The king looks at him and then at them all, and he snarls. “I found a messenger coming toward the council chamber. I thought you might all want to hear what he has to say. Ser Barristan bring the worm in.”

The Lord Commander does as he is instructed and soon enough a man with a broken nose and grey eyes looks at them all. “Tell them what you told me.” the king snarls.

The man looks scared but he says his words all the same. “Robb Stark has declared himself King in the North.”


	23. Sansa II

****

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Sansa Stark**

Sansa still had nightmares about what had happened at the great sept, she would wake up screaming sometimes, seeing the arrows pierce her father’s body, seeing the blood drip red down onto the ground before her. She did not know how it had happened, the king had said that her father was to be sent north to the wall, and she had believed him, and yet now her father was dead, and she did not know what to believe. The king, Joffrey, he had been spending time with her, more time than he had done before he had been crowned, and she still liked him, he was kind to her, never fretting or angry, but there was a change, she had not noticed it at first, but the more she thought about it, the more she noticed it. She was not quite sure what it was, but there was something within the king, something that was different than before. It was hard to place, for he was still so very nice to her, still kind to Lady, but there was something different. Perhaps it was the fact that he was king now, and the heavy burdens that came with that, she was not sure, but there was something. Robb was a king now as well, she had been told that by Joffrey, he had looked angry and concerned at the same time when he had told her the news, and she worried. Robb was just a few years older than the king, and what he was doing, she was not sure it was right. He continued to resist any attempts at peace, it seemed, and fought and fought. Northmen were dying and she was not sure why. As far as she knew, the king had had nothing to do with father’s death, nothing at all.

Still she feels slightly nervous as she walks with her brother, Jon, they rarely get to see one another now, since father died, but she wonders what he wants. He is accompanied by two of the king’s Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Preston Greenfield, and so she wonders if he is here on the king’s business. He looks handsome, does Jon, he looks more and more like father as the days go by, and for some reason that comforts her. Lady and Ghost are walking together as well, in front of them, and that comforts her as well. It is Jon who breaks the silence. “Are you well Sansa?”

She is surprised by the question, is she well? She would think so, her every need is still being seen to, there is not a lack of comfort or food for her, and yet the question requires her to think deeply. “I think so. Are you?”

Jon seems to be considering this as well, his face is scrunched into a look of concentration, it is an endearing look, that is a thought Sansa has not had about her brother before, and it worries her. “Yes, I am. The king is a good man, he has kept true to his word. But, the question is, are you well Sansa? Do you still wish to be betrothed to the king?”

Yet another question that Sansa was not expecting, her brother is good at asking her such questions. She does not know how to respond really, she looks at her brother and then responds. “I was not aware I had a choice. I would have thought that the king would simply marry me to ensure that the marriage agreement father and King Robert came to was kept.”

A strange look passes over Jon’s face then, it is almost as if he is angry at her, or is it father? She does not know, but his response is soft. “The king is not like his father. He is more concerned with ensuring that you are happy. Given what happened with father, he wants to know if you want to remain betrothed to him.”

Some part of Sansa is screaming that this is a trap, that although Jon is her brother, he is also the king’s friend, and that he might well go back to speak about this to the king. She considers her response, but eventually she says. “I think so yes, I do not know what would happen to me if I said no. I do not want to know.”

She is not sure if she imagines it or not, but she thinks she sees a look of disappointment pass over Jon’s face then, and for some reason she feels sad about that. “Are you certain of that Sansa? For if you are not, then speak now, and I shall tell His Grace that.”

Sansa thinks on it for a moment and then nods. “I am sure, I do want to remain betrothed to his grace. I do not think it would be right to break the betrothal.”

Jon stops walking then, and so Sansa stops as well. They stand there in silence for a long time, Jon seeming to think on what she has said. Then he speaks. “Very well.” he pauses and then goes on. “So how are you truly Sansa? Are you getting everything you need?”

Sansa smiles at him then. “I am Jon, truly I am. I am getting all the books and the clothes I could need. I need for nothing.” She pauses then, uncertain of whether or not to tell him this, and then deciding that if she cannot tell her own brother, then she would be unable to tell anyone. “Jeyne heard something as we were walking back from the great hall yesterday.”

Her brother, bastard brother, she reminds herself internally, and then chides herself for it, Jon is her family, the only one here, looks at her interested. “What did she hear?”

Sansa thinks back on it and then responds. “There were two people talking, a man and a woman. They were speaking of moving something along, that’s what Jeyne said.”

“Moving what along?” Jon asks looking at her intently. “Did she hear anything more?”

Sansa thinks on what her friend had said, and then belatedly remembers that she was there as well. She does not think she should tell Jon that, he does not think he would approve of where they heard this. Taking a deep breath she responds. “Move their plan with regards to the king along. It seems that the king is the focus of some plot or the other. And there is something within the red keep that these two people want quite desperately, they think the king knows where it is as well.”

A strange look passes over Jon’s face then, and for a brief moment, Sansa thinks he might know what it was they were speaking of, and then she dismisses it. “Do you know what it was precisely that made them think this Sansa?”

Sansa thinks and then shakes her head. “No, sorry Jon. I just know that much, because that is what Jeyne heard before she left.”

“Where did she hear this?” Jon asks.

Sansa thinks for a moment and then says. “The hall of the moon.”

A strange look crosses Jon’s face then, a look of worry and one of anger at the same time, it is almost as if they are warring for supremacy, these emotions playing across his face. “What was she doing there?” he asks, and Sansa thinks he knows that she was there as well.

Thinking carefully about her next few words, she eventually says. “She was walking back from the feast hall and took a wrong turn and ended up there. She did not mean to go there.”

Jon looks as if he does not believe her, and for a moment she feels indignation flow through her, she is not Arya, to so easily lie about something like this, and then she feels a pang flow through her, Arya, gods where is her sister? Her thoughts are interrupted when Jon eventually responds. “Very well, thank you for telling me this Sansa. I have to go now, but Ser Preston will see you back to your chambers.”

With that her brother turns and walks past her, but before he disappears completely from sight, she calls out. “When will I see you again?”

A strange looks crosses Jon’s face then, and she feels her heart flutter slightly at it. “Soon.” he responds, and then he is walking away from her, leaving her in the company of Ser Preston Greenfield, a knight of the Kingsguard, and a man Sansa does not trust. They walk in silence back to her chambers, and when she gets there she bids him farewell and closes the door in his face. She goes to the chair and sits down, thinking.

She does not know how long she has sat in the chair, but soon enough, Jeyne is there sitting next to her and looking at her as if she has something important to tell her. Sansa looks at her friend and asks. “What?”

“I saw him today, I saw him again.” her friend responds enthusiastically.

“Who? Who did you see again?” Sansa asks.

“I saw the Lightning Lord Sansa. I saw Lord Beric, and he said hello to me!” Jeyne gushes.

It takes Sansa a moment to remember who it is that her friend is speaking of and then she remembers.  “Oh really? And what did you say back?” she asks.

At this her friend seems sad, her shoulders slump. “I couldn’t say anything, I got tongue tied.” Sansa looks at her friend, feeling deeply sorry for her. “He must think me such an idiot. He says hello, and I cannot do anything but stare at him. I will never marry him now.”

Sansa stops herself from saying that she would not have married him anyway, considering Lord Beric is betrothed to Lady Allyria Dayne. Instead she asks her friend. “What have you done today? Where have you come from?”

Her friend looks slightly guilty then, and Sansa is not sure why. Her friend shifts around a little in her chair and then she whispers. “The hall of the moon.”

Sansa looks at her friend in astonishment. “Jeyne! We’re not supposed to go there.”

“Why?” Jeyne asks. “No one seems to know about it.”

“Because it is not right. If no one knows about it, gods above know what might happen there. I do not think it is safe to go there.” Sansa says.

Her friend laughs slightly. “Ah, so you do not want to hear the conversation I overheard about your betrothal to the king then?”

Sansa feels her interest prick then. “What did you hear?” she asks.

Jeyne looks as if she might not speak, but then she says. “They are talking about when you might be wed to the king. They say that with the war going on as it is now, it is important that you and the king marry soon.”

Sansa is not sure how to feel about that, on the one hand that is a good thing, for she shall become Queen sooner, and get to spend more time with Joffrey, on the other, there are these thoughts she keeps having about Jon. She does not know what to think. “And who were these people?” she asks instead.

Her friend shrugs. “I don’t know. I could not get a look at their faces. But I do think one of them was the Queen Regent herself. She was speaking intently, about you and the great sept of Baelor.”

“I don’t want to get married there.” Sansa says immediately. That was where her father died, she does not want to go there ever again.

Jeyne looks at her surprised. “But think of how beautiful everything would be. And the impression you could make on all these southern fools.”

Sansa looks at her friend then, anger and disgust mixing together. “I do not want to marry there. I do not know the seven and they do not know me.”


	24. Arya III

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**Arya Stark**

Sometimes she wakes up sweating and screaming, those are the worst times. The dreams of her father saying those things, those lies, and then being killed for it. She does not know whether or not Joffrey had her father killed, but she knows that whoever did have her father killed, will not live long. Arya is determined to see them dead, she will find them and have them killed. She remembers the voices she heard that day coming back from practice with Syrio, and she remembers their words, she wants to know who those people are but she does not know how to do that. She and Syrio fled the moment father was arrested, how Syrio knew her father had been arrested she does not know, she does not want to ask, not sure if she would like the answer, and so they had fled. They had run and run, and then they had left King’s Landing and had travelled, there had been a time when they had been with the Night’s Watch, but they had disappeared soon afterwards, but there was something about that band that she was not sure about, something that did not ring true. She wanted to find her brother and her mother, she wanted to go home, and by gods did she want to go home.

The strike of a sword brings her back to her present situation. “You are not focusing Arya that is not good enough.”

Arya straightens and prepares, Needle in her hand and then she moves forward, a swing and another swing, Syrio dancing back, and then a flurry of swings and they are locked together. She looks at him and asks. “You are going to come with me to Riverrun are you not?”

The man pushes back then, dancing back a few steps. “Of course, I said I would and I am a man of my word. Why? What makes you worry so?”

Arya moves forward, dancing from foot to foot trying to find the right balance, and then she springs. Syrio moves to the side and she hits the grass, she feels his blade pressed against her side. Panting slightly she responds. “I do not know, sometimes I dream, and when I dream you are not there.”

She looks at Syrio and sees that he is looking at her curiously. “What happens in these dreams?” He keeps his sword pressed against her side, and she wonders why he is doing that.

Arya looks at him and responds. “There is a feast, a grand one, and there are two people getting married, I think it is my brother and there is a woman with mousy brown hair. There is a lot of singing and dancing, but then it changes. There are arrows fired, and people die. And you are not there.”

Syrio withdraws his sword from her side and takes a step back. “I am not going anywhere Arya, you need not worry.” He draws his sword before him and nods.

Arya straightens her shoulders and then drawing Needle into a defensive grip she nods at the man, and then springs into action. She swings her sword and misses, but she spins around and hits him on the shoulder, a small triumph she knows, for soon enough Syrio is advancing towards her his sword a blur before her eyes. Swing, block, block, block, she is on the back foot now, facing down Syrio’s growing rampage of swings, she does not know what has brought this on, but she is looking for the chink, the weakness in his armour. She has not been able to find any weakness so far, and they have been sparring since they left King’s Landing, but she thinks she might be able to tire him out. She blocks and blocks, and then she feels something slippery underneath her feet, smiling to herself she moves forward and then back, pushing him off balance that done she swings once, twice, and then a third time and he is now on the back foot.

“Good.” she hears him say. “Now push your advantage.”

Arya concentrates, she is aware of Nymeria looking at them both intently. She swings and misses, but Syrio is not pressing the miss, instead he is moving backward, she senses a trap, but is not sure just how to go about this. And so she swings to her right, misses, swings to her left and connects with Syrio’s shoulder. She sees him wince a flash, and she knows she must press her advantage. She feints to her right, and sees him move there a moment and then he is moving to her left and she steps back and then rocks forward, her sword pressing against his throat.  She looks at him and sees that he is smiling. “Good, now we might rest for a while and begin again later.” With that she removes her sword from his throat, but keeps an eye on him, making sure that he does not do anything suspicious, she had learned that the hard way once before, still has the bruises to prove that. Once he has placed his sword down, she does the same. “You are doing well Arya, there are some things where you could improve. For instance, do not always feint to your right, if you always do that, then even those who have not faced you before will know you will do that.”

“How will they know that?” she asks.

“Because of the way your shoulders tense before you move. Movement is a crucial part of fighting, too much exposure to one particular type of feint, and when you go to move, your shoulders will automatically move in that direction. A give away as it were, and not something you want.” Syrio responds.

Arya thinks on this and then asks. “Is there a way to mask it?”

Syrio laughs. “There is no masking laziness Arya, you must be ready to train in numerous ways, before you become a true warrior.”

“I thought I was only learning the water dance?” Arya asks confused, but also feeling slightly exhilarated.

Syrio snorts then. “There is a war going on Arya, the time for water dancing is over, the time for fighting and learning how to fight good and true has come. Just as I always knew it would.”

Arya looks at the man surprised. “What do you mean you knew it would come to this war?”

Syrio looks surprised then, as if he had not meant to say that, but he does not seem to want to deny that he has said it. Instead, Arya sees his shoulders tense, his neck stiffen almost as if he is preparing to say something that he desperately does not want to say. “I know a lot of things Arya, more things than perhaps I should do. That was part of the reason for why I left Braavos.”

Arya looks at him confused, not really understanding what he is saying. “What do you mean?”

She sees Syrio take a deep breath then. “I come from a place far from Braavos, from somewhere further east than east itself. I came to Braavos long ago, knowing that a war such as this that is about to come would unfurl, and I needed to be here when it came.”

Arya looks at her teacher, her thoughts racing with all kinds of possibilities, most of them beyond the bounds of reason. “Why? Why did you need to come here?”

Before her master can respond, the sound of horses reaches them, and they both stand up, Nymeria’s hackles are raised, her mouth formed into a snarl, and then suddenly out of the woods come horses, three horses, a black one, a red one and a brown one, they stop when they see Arya and her teacher, and then she hears a voice she has not heard since they came south. “Arya?”

Arya feels surprise run through her then, she takes a step forward. “Lyman?” she asks.

Sure enough, a figure dismounts from the red horse and bounds toward her, it is Lyman Darry with his hair grown long since she last saw him. “What are you doing here? I had heard word you were dead.” Lyman says.

 Arya looks at him surprised, unsure of just what to say. “We are going northward. To find my brother.” she says eventually.

A strange look crosses Lyman’s face then, and then it is gone, Arya is not sure what to make of it. “Well you will find yourself facing a difficult route then. Tywin Lannister stands between you and your brother. His army is strong and they are growing ever stronger.”

“What do you mean?” Arya asks. “Why would a Lannister army be growing stronger from men from the riverlands? He was the one who invaded.”

Lyman laughs then, a strange bitter sound. “Aye, and now people are going over to his side to prevent their homes from being ruined. It is a strange thing, Lord Robb holds the Kingslayer a prisoner, and yet much and more is happening within this kingdom that makes me think people have lost their senses.”

“You mean King Robb,” Arya says. “He crowned himself king at Riverrun, and the Riverlords joined him, your father as well if I remember correctly.”

Lyman looks as if he wants to snarl at her, instead he merely responds. “Aye my father did, but my father died, fighting for your brother. And now, well now I do not have a home to go to. The Lannisters took my home and destroyed it.”

“So why are you going south?” Arya asks, indignation growing within her. “Why not go northward with me, to Riverrun to try and regain some pride and your home?”

Lyman laughs. “I do not think so. The moment I leave this path, I will be a dead man. And I have no intention of dying just yet.”

Arya looks at him surprised.  “What do you mean? Why would you die if you went north? That makes no sense, I know Robb, and he would not see you dead for going north.”

A strange look crosses Lyman’s face then, and it leaves Arya feeling quite worried. One of his companions, a tall man with thick muscled arms speaks then. “You do not know anything girl, and I am not surprised considering you left King’s Landing. Things are not as simple as you would think. There is more going on here than meets the eye, and we cannot allow Lord Lyman to head into that storm.”

“Storm? What storm?” Arya asks, confused.

The tall man looks at her and then glances at Syrio. “Ask your friend there, he should know what I am on about.”

Arya turns back and looks at Syrio questioningly. “Syrio, what does he mean?”

“Oh, so that is the name you have taken for yourself now is it? Syrio eh? You always did like sounding foreign.” the tall man says.

“That is because I am not from Westeros, as you well know Gareth. Now, let us pass, we have a way to go.” Syrio says.

“Syrio, you didn’t answer my question. What is this man speaking about?” Arya asks insistently.

She sees Syrio’s shoulders stiffen once more and wonders at that, his voice is soft when he says. “I am not from Westeros, nor am I from Braavos, I am from a land further to the east, a land where fire is strong and the dragons grow strong. I am here to meet with your brother. Now let us pass Gareth.”

Arya looks at him then surprised, her head spinning, she is not sure whether this is some sort of joke or not, but she knows that she has to get to Robb now, she just has to. However, it seems Lyman and his companions do not agree with her. “You are going nowhere.” Lyman says. “You are coming with us.”

“Where are you going?” Arya finds herself asking.

“To the rightful king of Westeros. His Grace Aegon Targaryen.” Lyman says a fanatical devotion in his eyes and sounding in his voice.

 


	25. Jorah I

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Somewhere in Essos**

**Ser Jorah Mormont**

It seemed as if he was moving from one place to another, always moving and never staying there for long. The only time he had had any sort of stability in his life had been when he had been a boy growing up on Bear Island, that was the only time he had ever truly felt safe, with his mother and father there, as well as his aunt. But then his mother had died and his father had gone north to the wall, and he had become Lord of Bear Island. He had no children, and his wife had died, and gods’ things had just gotten completely out of hand. He knew that was no excuse for what he had done, but he knew deep down that even if he had not met Lynesse he would’ve had to do something like that anyway. His whole world had changed within a short period, and he had had no way of knowing how to adjust to it. And then he had fled, and he had run, run from Eddard Stark, and run from Robert Baratheon and their assassins and their judgement. Jorah had run and run, and then he had stopped and then Lynesse had left him, and he had continued. That had been when Illyrio had contacted him, brought him to Pentos, to be a guardian for the Targaryens to get to know them and to guide them. Viserys was mad, had seemed to be mad from the very beginning, the years of tolling around and fighting for survival had broken down an already weak constitution and made it scattered. Jorah suspected that there was a reason the eunuch and Mopatis had not tried to improve the boy’s constitution, and he did not think it had anything to do with why he had gone to Essos. The girl, Daenerys, she was interesting, a timid girl with fire in her belly, she would make a very good queen, but there was a naivety about her, a naivety that needed to be sorted out. She had dragons now, but her husband and brother were dead, the Khalasar was wondering around aimlessly and he knew they needed to sort that out.

“Tell me of Westeros Ser Jorah.” the Queen says.

Jorah looks at her, his mouth going slightly dry at the sight of her, she is young, but already he knows she will become a beauty. “What is it you wish to know about Westeros my queen?” he asks.

There is a moment’s silence, and he can tell that the queen is thinking through this question seriously. “Viserys often spoke of the rebels, the usurper’s dogs and I am not sure whether what he says is true or not. You were there, you fought for one of the dogs, tell me of them. Tell me what they are like, truly. Hold nothing back.”

Jorah shifts slightly, he does not know whether this is a trap or not, something in him tells him that it might be, whilst another part of him, tells him that it is not. “Are you certain you want to hear this my queen?”

The Queen fixes her piercing gaze on him, she might be small, but she can be intimidating when she wants to be. “Yes. If I am to rule Westeros, I must know about the people who would stand in my way.”

He thinks through this and then says. “Tywin Lannister, the head of House Lannister, is a prideful man, he is all about establishing his family’s legacy. All of his actions are geared toward that. He once wanted his daughter to marry Prince Rhaegar, and when King Aerys rightfully refused to allow that to happen, I think that was when the first seeds of conflict between them were sown. Lord Tywin remained as hand for some five years after that rejection, but things were never truly the same between him and your kingly father.”

The queen looks at him surprised. “He is about his family you say, and yet he remained hand of the king, despite knowing that my father would never allow his daughter to marry Rhaegar. That is odd is it not?”

“It is indeed my queen, and it would have been considered odd for him to remain there, considering how prideful he is. But, Prince Viserys was alive then, and as such, it seems Lord Tywin hoped to see his daughter married to the prince. One way or another it seemed that Tywin Lannister would have a daughter for a Queen.” Jorah says.

He can see the anger growing in the queen’s face then. “So he would’ve killed my father and brother, to simply have his daughter as a queen. Has he no shame?”

Jorah snorts. “Shame? Tywin Lannister knows nothing of shame when it comes to furthering the family legacy.  If he thinks something will help bolster his family then he will do it and not think twice about it.”

“So he is a man without scruples. A deadly foe to have.” the queen notes.

“Indeed my queen.” Jorah nods. “However, because of his ambition, he has made many enemies. There are those within the Westerlands who do not respect him, who merely fear him, and though fear might’ve kept them in order for much of his reign, he is getting older now, and has not clear successor. One son is a member of the Kingsguard, and the other is a dwarf, who is not like to be accepted by the lords of the west. This second son is also the son Tywin Lannister hates the most.”

“Why?” The queen asks.

“Because this son killed Tywin’s wife, when he was born, she died slightly afterwards. Tywin Lannister never forgave his son for that. Furthermore, this son also married below his station, he had a secret marriage with a maid.” Jorah responds.

“What happened to this maid?” the queen asks.

“She was killed on Tywin Lannister’s orders. She was a shame on the Lannister name and could not be allowed to live.” Jorah responds. _Or so he thought, the princess lives still, and she will come back for her revenge._

“He sounds like a monster.” the queen replies.

“He is. He is one of the worst kinds of monsters known to man.” Jorah responds.

“And if he is like that to his own family, then surely there will be those within the Westerlands who would want to see him fall.” the queen says.

“I am certain of it my queen, especially as his daughter is wed to the usurper.” Jorah responds.

The Queen looks thoughtful then, and then she asks. “Tell me of the usurper and his family. I would know what I can of my dreaded enemy.”

Jorah looks at the queen, and at the dragons that are around her, mewling like little kittens, she looks harmless, but he is beginning to think that perhaps she might be the most dangerous of the dragons. “Robert Baratheon is a man who likes to indulge in his wants and needs, he is a glutton who will bring himself down. He mourns Lady Lyanna, and hates his wife and his children. His brother Stannis, resents him for all the perceived slights that have been sent his way. And his youngest brother Renly, I do not know much about.”

The Queen looks at him intrigued. “This Stannis, what is he like?”

Jorah does not like where this conversation is going, but he suspects he might as well move forward with it. “He is stubborn and dutiful and believes firmly in the law. He resents his brother thought that much everyone knows, he despises his brother for all the things that have passed between them. Some of which none but those two know.”

“Do you think he could be convinced to turn and support me?” the queen asks.

Jorah thinks about this for a moment and then nods. “I think with enough persuasion he could be convinced to do so. He does not like his brother, nor does he like the Lannisters, and it is them that would be in power once the usurper’s son comes to the throne.”

“I want someone to reach out to him, let him know of what I want and what we might offer him in return for his support and ships.” the queen says.

Jorah nods. “It shall be done my queen.”

The Queen looks nervous now, as if she dreads asking the question on her mind, and Jorah knows why. “What of the Starks?” she eventually asks.

Jorah considers this question, he does not know how he feels about the Starks, he was good friends with Brandon, and he respected Eddard, but now, there is a lot of mixed emotion there. Eventually he says. “Eddard Stark is an honourable man, who I think fought not for the removal of your family, but to get his sister back and for justice for the murders of his brother and father. His wife is an honourable woman, and he has strong connections with the Riverlands and the Tullys.”

“His father and brother were traitors. They threatened the life of my brother.” the queen says, and Jorah can hear echoes of Viserys in her voice.

“Your brother did abscond with Lady Lyanna my queen. Whatever way you want to look at it, what he did was not right. Brandon Stark was not smart in what he did, but there was reason behind it.” Jorah says.

“Still, he came and threatened the live of my brother the crown prince, as well as that of my father and mother. It was not right what he did, and he paid a price for it.” the queen says.

Jorah bites his tongue then, he has learned that it does no good to antagonise a dragon. Instead he says softly. “The Starks will be needed to rule the north. None else can rule it in their place.”

The queen does not say anything for some time, and merely looks at him, for a moment he thinks he has said the wrong thing, and then the Queen says. “You are dismissed for tonight Ser Jorah.”

He wants to say something then, but one look at the queen’s face tells him that doing so would not be a good idea. He bows and then rises and turns and walks out of her tent. As he walks, his mind is a thrum with memories long forgotten. He remembers what happened during the early days of the rebellion, being there when his father received the call to arms, and the discussion and arguments they had. Arguing with Brandon over what he planned on doing at Harrenhal, there were many arguments had during the course of that time, and there are times where he wonders if what happened next could have been avoided if they had all just sat down and discussed it. He thinks not, there was too much pride and stubbornness involved for such a thing to take place, a shame really.

He arrives back in his own tent and is not surprised to see a figure there, sat in a chair by the fire. “What do you want?” Jorah asks the figure.

“I have come to speak with you about the plan.” The figure responds.

Jorah closes the tent flap and walks into his tent properly. “What about the plan?” he asks suspiciously.

“It must happen sooner. It must take place within the next three days.” the figure replies.

“What?!” Jorah exclaims. “That is too soon, I do not have the necessary tools.”

“The master wants it done. Stark is dead as is the fat man. It must be done now.” the figure replies.

Jorah looks at the figure stunned, he wants to ask how this is possible, but he knows not to question the figure. “I will see it done.” he says simply.

“Good.” the figure replies, putting a bag of gold on the floor before Jorah, before disappearing.


	26. Tyrion II

**9 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

The family was a mess that much he knew. Cersei was spending most of her time drinking and plotting, when she was not in a council meeting, Tyrion had heard reports of her falling asleep in the middle of sessions with her ladies, and he knew for certain that these events were being reported back to the ladies’ families. It was embarrassing and aggravating, Tyrion did feel some small measure of pity for her, he missed Jaime as well, but he was not willing to give up everything including his dignity over worrying for their brother. He had other things to contend with, and trying to free Jaime was just one of them. So whilst Cersei was off drinking herself to death, Tyrion was getting to know his nephew, the king. The king varied between being very pleasant and at times being quite hostile, it was increasingly difficult to know which version of his nephew he would be faced with, and as such he was being worn down by it. There were times when Tyrion found himself wondering what life would be like if Tommen had been born first, the boy was quiet, sweet and supple able to be moved in one direction or another. However, Tyrion knew that in this time of war, a strong king was needed, and whilst Joffrey was not strong, he was capable or something along those lines, and was handling the pressure he was under, far better than anyone else his age would’ve been able to. Still, Tyrion knew they needed something to go their way otherwise he feared what might happen.

As he sat down in the council chamber, and looked at the king who was sat at the head of the table, he had the distinct feeling that if they did not produce some good news soon, they might all be meeting Ser Illyn’s sword. Clearing his throat to bring the meeting to order, he speaks. “Since we last met, many interesting things have happened. Ser Jacelyn found some very interesting documents in the rooms that were once Lord Renly’s. They pertain to some deals that the Lord of Storm’s End made with certain people of disrepute during his time here.”

A moment’s silence and then king speaks. “Go on.”

Tyrion looks at the king and nods his head. “In these documents, it is recorded that Lord Renly met with several nobles known to harbour Targaryen sympathies, and that during their meetings, they discussed restoring the Targaryens to the throne. Namely Viserys Targaryen.”

There is a moment of silence and then king bursts out laughing. “Why in the name of the seven hells would he do that?”

Tyrion looks at his nephew, laughing alongside him. “I think it was merely a ruse, to figure out who amongst his own bannermen was loyal and who was not. I think he has a spy in the Targaryen camp, and that is why he has been able to get so many lords to flock to his banner.”

“What do you mean?” the king asks.

Tyrion takes a deep breath and then says. “One of the documents found contained the signature of Viserys Targaryen. The wording of the document is just about legible, and in it, Viserys Targaryen has agreed to give over his claim to the throne to Lord Renly Baratheon in return for a sum of some five hundred dragons.”

There is a long moment of silence and then Cersei bursts out laughing. “You cannot be serious! Why would that inbred shit give away his claim to the throne to Renly? From what we know of the boy, he hates the Baratheons even more than he hates our family and the Starks. What foolishness is this Tyrion?”

Tyrion looks at his sister, and sees the way her eyes are drooping, and he knows she is drunk already, that angers him greatly. “Because he might well have not known that that was what he was signing off for. We all know how mad Viserys Targaryen had become, it would make sense that this would be something he might do, if he thought it was actually going to give him an army.”

The king is looking at him intently now. “Who was it who gave this piece of paper to the mad boy?”

“Brendon Storm Your Grace.” Tyrion responds.

“Brendon Storm?” the king asks. “Who is he?”

Tyrion is surprised that the king does not know who the man is, but then realises that this is Joffrey, no doubt he does not know more about the darker side of his family. “He is King Robert’s bastard uncle, born during the war of the ninepenny kings.”

“And why have I not heard of him before?” the king asks.

“Because he is a dangerous man, the lowliest of the low. Someone we did not want you meeting Your Grace.” Cersei says, her voice remarkably clear.

“So he is my great uncle, so then why would he go to present a document to Viserys Targaryen?” the king asks.

“Because he fought for the dragons during the rebellion, and was responsible for delaying Lord Stannis from getting to Dragonstone in time.” Cersei says.

“So why was he allowed to live?” the king asks, sounding more intrigued than angry.

“He was allowed to live because he gave your father the one piece of information that he most desired.” Cersei says, sounding incredibly bitter now.

“And what was that?” the king asks.

“Where Lady Lyanna was being kept.” Cersei responds.

There is a moment of silence as the king digests this, and then he says. “So, he went to Essos to wherever that fool is, and got him to sign away his rights to the throne, no doubt telling him it was something else. But then, how do we know that it is authentic?”

At this Tyrion looks at the grand maester, who speaks. “I had a look at the way the signature was done for the false dragon on the piece of paper, and the way he had signed previous documents that we had confiscated. The signatures match.”

The king looks perplexed by this. “So if that is true, then that document is incredibly important. Why would he leave it behind?”

“Either because he wanted us to find it, to use as a taunt, or because he had a spare somewhere, and he intends to use it soon.” Tyrion says.

The king looks at him intently once more, and Tyrion feels as if his every fibre is being analysed and evaluated, it is an unnerving feeling. Eventually the king says. “Destroy the document you have, and destroy anything else that pertains to it.”

Tyrion nods and says. “It shall be done.”

The eunuch speaks then. “Word has come from the south my king, it seems that Renly Baratheon advances ever forward, and that he shall be soon preparing to march out for King’s Landing for good. This time he means to make haste for the capital and to take it for good.”

“Are you certain this time? This could well be another ruse, we all know what Renly Baratheon is like.” Tyrion says.

“I think it is the right time to say that this time he means to do as he has threatened to do since he left King’s Landing. This time, I think he will be coming here with an army at his back.” the eunuch responds.

Tyrion glances around the room, and sees the sense of despair that he feels reflected in the faces around the room. The king looks quite angry as well. “And is there none within that bunch of treacherous whores who will betray him?”

The eunuch sighs. “There are some minor Stormlords who might turn, but their contribution would be meaningless either way.”

The king slams his hand down onto the table, and Tyrion swears he can feel it shake. “Then find me someone who will damn well stop this fool before he comes here.”

Silence, and then the eunuch speaks. “Well, there is one thing that might stop his march Your Grace.”

“What is it?” the king snarls. “Do not stop there, tell me it all.”

The eunuch looks terrified, and rightly so considering how angry the king seems. “Word has come from Oldtown, it seems they are willing to turn on Renly Baratheon, in exchange for one thing, and one thing alone.”

The king looks confused and then terrified. “What is it that they want? That they would demand of me?”

“The right to browse through the archives of King’s Landing.” the eunuch responds.

Tyrion sighs, a simple enough request, but then he feels his stomach tighten when he sees the look of absolute fear on the king’s face. “Very well, tell them they can have it. I want him dealt with.”

The eunuch nods. “It shall be done Your Grace.”

Tyrion notes the look that passes between the king and Cersei and ponders it, but then decides to put that matter to rest for the time being, instead he turns attention to another matter. “Word has come from Harrenhal, from Lord Tywin. He reports several great victories over the disparate Riverlords, as well as the capturing of Darry and Maidenpool. Furthermore, he reports that the strain is beginning to show in Riverrun, they are becoming desperate and are sending out bands of men to fight his shield men, their men are dying.”

“And what of the Westerlands? What is happening there?” the king asks, precise as ever.

Tyrion sighs. “Robb Stark won a victory at Oxcross, it seems that that beast of his found a passageway through the tooth that avoided it, and thus allowed him to sneak on Ser Stafford killing him and winning a victory there.”

A dark look crosses over the king’s face, and it seems as though he might well begin throwing things, for his hand is gripping the cup he is holding quite tightly. Something passes through the king then, and he seems to calm down a fraction. “And what pray tell are the lords of the west doing about this traitor?”

Tyrion hesitates a moment and then says. “They are remaining within their own keeps, bolstering their defences to ensure that they are not caught off guard.”

“Leaving Stark free to go through the west burning and pillaging as he pleases.” the king growls. “Just as Jon said he would do.”

“Jon Snow could be quite useful a tool to use against his brother, Your Grace. He grew up with Stark and knows him quite well, surely that would be something that would a must to use?” Tyrion asks.

“I think it is more the other lords who are telling Stark what to do that is leading to his success, the direwolf not counting.” Cersei says then.

Tyrion sees a dark look cross the king’s face, his voice is cold as ice when he responds. “He defeated your precious Jaime Lannister, mother. I think soon enough the time will come where he and I shall have to meet.”

Tyrion sees a look of fear cross his sister’s face at that, and then the king is looking at him saying. “I want word sent to Lord Tywin, tell him to get here quickly otherwise I will take his lordship and make you the lord of the rock.”

Tyrion is completely surprised at this turn of events, and he is not sure whether he should laugh or not. “I will do Your Grace.”

“Good.” the king says, before he stands up and says. “If there is nothing else?”

Before he leaves, the eunuch speaks. “There is one more thing Your Grace. Viserys Targaryen is dead, it seems he was crowned with a golden crown in Vaes Dothrak. The Dothraki have crowned Daenerys Targaryen as their queen.”

“What of the whore’s brat?” the king asks.

“Dead Your Grace.” the eunuch responds.

“Tell Ser Jorah to do what he needs to do to come home.” the king responds then, before turning and walking out of the room.


	27. Jon VIII

**9 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Everything was a mess, he did not know what to think or how to think. His father was dead, and with him the secret of who his mother was. There was war in the kingdoms, and his brother was at the head of it, his brother, Robb, the brother he had always tried to hate but never could, the brother was now a king as well as Lord of Winterfell. Jon did not know what to make of that last, but he did know that he was beginning to resent Robb, he was beginning to feel as though his brother was putting his own petty grievances before the family. He and Sansa had not suffered near as much as they could because of his actions, and as such, Jon was grateful to the king for that, but he was still angry with Robb. Every time his idiot of a brother fought against the crown, he was putting Sansa in danger, Jon knew that a messenger had come, some Frey or the other, offering ridiculous terms for the end of the war, and Jon had known then, had known the moment he had heard the terms, that his brother was not taking this seriously. It made him angry, so very fucking angry, and he did not know how to deal with that anger.  That he remained part of the king’s inner circle was something he was deeply grateful for, for he knew that the king could’ve had him excluded from the group, and then he would have been finished, that his king had not done that showed just how good a man the king really was.

As such Jon was very happy to spend time with the king and his friends, they were in the king’s solar, enjoying some wine and talking about many things, and nothing at all. It was nice and refreshing, Jon still felt very nervous though, and he was not sure what to feel and what to do. When the king looks at him, his heart hammers in his chest. “I know this might be painful for you Jon, but I was wondering if you might be able to tell me about your brother, about Robb.”

Jon looks at the king and sees that he seems to be looking at him kindly, Jon feels his heart relax a little, but his heart is still flipping over itself in nervousness. “What would you like to know Your Grace?” he asks.

The king considers this question for a moment and then says. “I would know everything there is to know about your brother. Tell me what you can Jon.”

Jon feels something akin to relief flow through him at that, but then nervousness comes back. He feels as if a part of him might be betraying his brother, but a larger part of him is telling to screw Robb, the king has cared for him in a manner Robb never did. He swallows then, aware that the king’s eyes are on him, looking at him intently. Eventually he speaks. “He has always been very confident and sure of himself. I think that is what comes from being the heir. He never doubted himself for a moment when we were children, and was always sure of how things were meant to be.”

Jon can see the eyes of all of their companions on him, and yet the king holds his gaze, his heart is hammering in his chest, and he is scared that they all might be able to hear it. The king’s voice is soft and calm when he responds. “And what do you mean by that exactly Jon? How was he sure of how things were meant to be?”

Jon does not really know how to answer that question, he feels as if he himself does not know the answer, does not know what he means, and yet the king is looking at him so intently and so earnestly as well, that he feels he has no choice but to say the first thing that comes to mind. “He never doubted for a moment that he was the heir to Winterfell, and that everything our father taught him was right. That there was always good and bad, and nothing in between.”

The king looks intrigued by this, and for a moment Jon fears he might have said something wrong, gods he feels so nervousness his palms are sweating. “And what of yourself Jon?” the king asks. “What did you think of what your father taught you?”

Jon feels his gut twist, the memory of his father’s body lying there before him strewn with arrows, it is something he does not want to think about, and yet he relieves it almost every night. He swallows once more and then responds. “I have come to learn that not everything is as simple as my father would’ve had me believe. There are some things that need to be done to survive.”

The king nods then, as if agreeing with Jon, and he feels himself relax a moment, and then the king speaks, and the nerves come floating back. “An interesting sentiment Jon. Tell me, do you think your brother still holds true to those values?”

Jon is not sure of how to respond, and he feels fear coiling in his stomach, he knows that one wrong word, and he might well end up being led away from here and killed. The king does not say or act as such, but Jon is not a fool, he knows that that is what would happen if he said the wrong thing, the question is, what is the right thing to say? He can see that the king is growing impatient, or at least he thinks he is, it is so hard to tell with the king. Eventually he comes to an answer and says. “I think he does. I think he continues fighting because he believes those values are the only ones that matter.”

The king seems highly intrigued by this. “And so you think he will continue fighting until such time as he has won, or in such time as he is defeated then?”

Jon feels as though he is walking a thin line between truth and lie, he does not know what answer the king wants him to give, he is not even sure of what answer he himself wants to give. He swallows nervously and then says. “I think so yes. I think my brother is set in his ways, and the lords he has around him advising him are going to keep him going like that, they will not let him stray from that, either because they think it is right or because it suits their interests.”

The king nods, and then looks at his cousin Tyrek who speaks then. “And do you think then that, your brother will not come to his senses and realise where he has gone wrong?”

Jon thinks on this, he knows that Tyrek is the king’s closest advisor and friend, something he has felt a tinge of jealousy over for some time, he knows that whatever he says now, will be discussed later by the two, and so he thinks over what he wants to say. The problem is, the only thing he can say is the truth, and he feels as if he is betraying his brother every time he says the truth. Then he remembers what his brother is doing to him and Sansa, and he thinks that it matters not. “I think he might not realise until it is too late. I think he is too much like our father, he wants to do the right thing, but his mind is clouded.”

“Do you think you can uncloud it?” Tyrek asks.

Jon is not sure what Tyrek means and therefore asks. “What do you mean by that?”

He sees a look of impatience bloom on the boy’s face and for a moment, fear courses through him, but then the king speaks, his voice kind and reassuring. “What Tyrek means is that do you think you can make your brother see reason? Do you think you can make him understand that there is more to this than meets the eye?”

Jon thinks on this a moment, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, his palms really are quite sweaty, and he is not sure what to say. He thinks on it for a long time, remembering everything that he and Robb did together when they were children, remembering how Robb responded to the lessons their father gave them, and he thinks on how Robb acted when they last spoke to one another. He thinks on all of this and he feels as though he is drowning, drowning in a sea of despair he does not know what to say or do, or even how to act, gods it is creeping in on him this feeling of uncertainness. He blinks then, surprised to feel tears in his eyes, he blinks furiously, trying to prevent them from falling down his cheeks, and he clears his throat and then says. “I do not know. Once I might have been able to, but now, now I do not know.” He thinks of the messenger who came with his brother’s terms, the mockery that was made of that, that it was his brother who sent the man and made a mockery of them all makes him angry, so deeply angry. “I think now that he has a crown on his head, he might not listen to anyone.”

There is a long moment of silence following this, Jon looks around the room, but he does not see anything, it is almost as if he has gone blind, but he knows deep down that he is not seeing anything, that he is hiding his thoughts from himself. Ghost is at his side, pacing nervously backwards and forwards, it is almost as if there is some game being played within him, he does not know how to deal with it, or even how to feel. Anger, grief, sadness as well as shock are all flittering through his mind, making him want to throw up. Gods he hates feeling like this, but he does not know how else to feel. Everything is going upside down. The world has gone upside down since his father died, since King Robert died, and he feels as if he is just one of many things that has gone upside down. There is so much he does not understand, there is so much he wants to understand, who his mother was, why he is feeling the way he does about his sister, where the hells Arya has gone, where everything has gone, where the sanity in the world has gone. He feels himself calm slightly when he sees the king placing a hand on Ghost’s head. “Tell me Jon, what is it you want in this world? More than anything else?”

Jon thinks on this, he thinks it should be an easy answer, but the more he thinks on it, he wonders if perhaps there is more to what he wants. He remembers distant memories when he was younger, of dreaming, of longing to become something more than what he was, he does not know what to say, how to respond to the question posed to him. There is so much he wants, and he does not know how to get it. He looks at the king, and sees him stroking Ghost, Jon begins to feel calmer, calmer than he has done in some time. Eventually he says. “I want what I think is mine. I want my family safe and protected from harm.”

The king looks at him intrigued. “I am going to make you an offer Jon, and I want you to hear it out first and think about it, before responding.”

Jon nods. “I will Your Grace.”

The king looks at him then, his eyes holding Jon in place. “If you wish, I will allow you to return home to Winterfell, and I shall ensure no harm comes to you.”

Jon feels something pang in his heart, he wants this, desperately so, and then he thinks of what would happen between him and Robb, and with Lady Catelyn, he remembers Robb telling him he could never be Lord of Winterfell, when they were children, he remembers Lady Catelyn’s harsh words and her harsher treatment of him. He feels his heart harden then, and he looks at the king and says. “I will stay here Your Grace.”


	28. Tyrek II

**10 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrek Lannister**

Things were becoming ever more complicated as time moved on, the war was raging in the riverlands as well as in the Westerlands. Uncle Tywin was winning the fighting in the riverlands, but the West was burning, and Tyrek was not sure how much longer the lords of the west would remain loyal to uncle Tywin if this continued. Tyrek could in part understand why his uncle Tywin remained in the riverlands for now, he knew that his uncle was trying to draw out the Riverlords strength, to break them before he pushed onto the west, the question was whether or not he would manage to do that before his own lords fell to dust. Tyrek knew that the strain of worry was beginning to show on the king, his cousin. King Joffrey was increasingly growing angry and frustrated as more news of the war in the west reached them, and there were times when Tyrek saw the old age tension appearing in his cousin’s eyes. That worried him, for he knew that if his cousin’s full wrath was unleashed there would be nothing left for them to salvage and the kingdoms would desert them, they were just about holding on now. There was so much more that needed to be discussed and done, and he knew the king felt angry that his councillors were doing much of it without his help or input, and as such he knew that was why their group had gone for a ride through King’s Landing, to discuss and to have some air.

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Preston Greenfield and Ser Mandon Moore all of the Kingsguard were present as was Sandor Clegane, the king’s sworn sword. As they rode through the streets of King’s Landing, Tyrek saw a lot of people coming out to look at them and to see them. The king had not ventured from the red keep since the death of Eddard Stark, and so there was some worry as to how people might receive him. Just now, they were riding in silence, but once they crossed the main street from the keep the king speaks. “My uncle was not wrong. The people look absolutely famished.”

Tyrek nods. “Aye, it seems the Tyrells are growing more boastful by the day, trying to do to us as they did to Storm’s End.”

A look of anger crosses the king’s face then. “They are fools for doing this. Horas, tell me, when might your father finally get his ships here?”

Tyrek looks at the heir to the Arbor, and sees him share a look with his brother and twin, there is something suspicious about those two, something that he has not been able to place quite yet. Horas speaks all the same. “I think he should be here within the moon my king. Word came from my mother saying that he had departed a moon ago, with the Arbor fleet.”

“And he is bringing food and supplies yes?” the king asks.

“Yes Your Grace. He knows what the capital needs, and as such he has promised to bring it.” Horas responds.

Tyrek looks at his cousin and sees that the king does not seem to quite believe what it is that the Redwyne heir is telling him. Yet he keeps his mouth shut for a time, and with it his thoughts. Eventually, Jon Snow speaks. “What might be done to help alleviate their suffering Your Grace?”

Tyrek looks at Snow, the bastard had a chance to return to his brother and his family, but the king was right in guessing that the boy would remain here with them. He does not know quite what to make of the bastard, but if he proves as useful as the king thinks he will then that is all well and good. The king speaks then. “Tyrek, you know the answer to that. Tell Jon what you had told me.”

Tyrek nods. “Well, bread and meat stuffs are coming from those areas of the crownlands that are close to the capital. The lords of Crackclaw Point have fallen to fighting amongst themselves and as such any food stuffs from there are not going to be coming any time soon. It does seem as though there might be a chance for more food and supplies from the outer regions of the crownlands, though the arrival of the Redwyne fleet could not come soon enough.”

Tyrek sees the king nod in approval, but Snow looks slightly disconcerted. “Do you think putting so much reliance on the lords of the crownlands is a good thing?”

“Well what other solution is there? The Riverlands is a burning sunder, the reach is in rebellion and the Westerlands is cut off by the northmen. The crownlords are the only source of food and supplies that we have readily available.” Tyrek responds.

“Could one not look to the Vale to help relieve the burden? After all they have remained neutral so far. And regardless of what happened to my father, the lords of the vale know that His Grace had nothing to do with his death.” Snow responds, his voice shaking slightly.

Tyrek considers this and looks at the king before speaking. “It is possible, but then the question arises of how to get the food from there. The riverlands is burning, and Dragonstone stands before us. Lord Stannis has not yet moved from his rock, and until he does, I am weary to propose such a thing.”

“So you are scared then?” Snow asks.

Tyrek feels anger flash through him at the bastard’s words. Keeping his voice calm though he says. “I am not scared Jon, I am merely being practical. Until we know of what the man in Dragonstone plans we cannot make any right moves there.”

“So the burden will be on the crownlords until such time as things settle down in the riverlands is that it?” Snow asks.

Tyrek looks at him and merely nods. “Yes.”

They ride in silence after that for a while, riding through the streets of King’s Landing, seeing various people poke their heads out of their houses looking at the king and his companions, there are some people on the street who bow their heads as they ride past. Tyrek notices how some of them seem to be looking at the king and then at Snow and the direwolf that bounds at his side, he smirks then. How convenient for them to have a tool to suppress the populace should they grow unwieldy. Bryce Storm breaks the silence then. “Your Grace, I have received word about something going on within the Stormlands.”

The king does not bother stopping his horse, instead he merely continues riding though he does ask. “And what is that that you have found?”

Tyrek looks at Bryce, their odd companion and notes the look of surprise that the king actually wants to hear this, over time the king has grown more distant. “It seems that there is a small faction within the Stormlands that has grown disaffected with Renly Baratheon and his Tyrell influence. They are beginning to believe that the time is coming for a true Baratheon to rule the Stormlands. It seems that they are going to stage a minor uprising in the next few weeks.”

The king stops his horse then and looks at Bryce. “And how did you come to know if this Bryce?”

The bastard of the Mistwood looks at the king and then softly says. “Red Ronnet Connington wrote to me to tell me of it.”

“And why would Connington write to you Bryce? I had thought your relations with those within that are was not good?” Tyrek asks.

Bryce looks sheepish then. “Connington wants his lands and titles restored to him, and as such it seems he is willing to side with the true king in return for this.”

Tyrek snorts. “So he could well be making this up then? How fitting for a Connington.”

“I do not think he is Tyrek. I think there are some things that Connington will not lie about, and this is one of them. I think there is something of a truth in what he has said to me. You must admit, that the way that this has gone does seem as if there is something happening within the Stormlands.” Bryce says.

“What thing? Nothing has happened within the Stormlands, they have simply allowed a Tyrell puppet to take control over their armies and lead them through a merry gander. They are not doing anything of note, nor are they going to. For they are fools.” Tyrek snaps.

“So you do not think it is worthwhile looking into this and seeing if we can make something happen?” Bryce asks. “You do not think we should take every advantage that is thrown at us, to ensure the king comes out successful in this war?”

Tyrek can feel his anger growing now, the white hot rage filling him. “I did not say anything of the sort Bryce. And I would appreciate it, if you did not put words into my mouth. I just find it unlikely that Connington of all people would be planning to participate in a revolt against his liege lord. For all we know he could be fucking Renly Baratheon and saying this on his order.”

The king speaks then. “I think there is some small truth in what both of you are saying. However, I would hear what Jon has to say on this.”

Tyrek feels something akin to impatience flow through him then, but he waits to see what Snow will say. “I think that there is some merit in looking into this option Your Grace. If it hinders Renly Baratheon then it can only be a good thing.”

Tyrek feels like snapping at Snow then, but he holds his tongue, and when the king looks at him and smiles, he thinks that perhaps it might not be such a bad idea after all. “Very well then, I shall instruct some people to look into this. Bryce tell Connington to begin making things happen and then we shall see.” the king says.

Tyrek grits his teeth through that and they ride on through the streets of King’s Landing, Tyrek notices that there is something bustling through the streets, a sense of anticipation or breadth, he is not sure how to describe it or if that is even the right word to use to describe what he thinks he feels. Still they ride on and he finds himself drifting back to the Westerlands, he wonders how his family are, he hopes they are safe, and he hopes Robb Stark chokes on his own breath soon enough. His attention is brought back to the present when he hears Ser Preston call out. “You there, move for the king.”

He looks and sees a man standing there in the way of Ser Preston’s horse, the man looks threadbare and is staring blankly into the distance. “I said get out of the way.” the knight yells this time.

The man looks at Ser Preston and snarls. “I will not move for a false king. You are not my king nor will you ever be my king. Death to the usurper.” the man comes charging forward only to be cut down by Ser Preston’s swift sword. However, that one action does something to those around them, they spur into motion rushing towards them from the front and sides. Tyrek draws his sword and prepares to engage in combat, but before he can arrows are flying out into the crowd.

“Get the king back to the Red Keep.” He bellows, and soon enough they are turning their horses and riding back hard to the red keep. Tyrek turns round in his horse, to see if they are being followed, and he sees Ser Preston being pulled off of his horse by some six or seven men, all of them with daggers.


	29. Jon IX

**10 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Jon feels his horse pelting through the streets of King’s Landing back toward the Red Keep, surprise and horror running through him. The attack had come as a surprise, he was not sure why, things were obviously quite tense within the capital, but he had not expected such a thing to happen. There was no honour in those fools coming to their deaths that way, and still, he had faced death down once now and survived. It was a strange thought that, knowing he had come close to death. His horse was pelting it through the streets, people looking at them in surprise, not yet aware of what had happened just a few feet away from them. The king was there at his side, his face unreadable as they rode through King’s Landing, Ghost was at his side now, and there was a lot of nervousness flowing through him. He was not sure, who might have planned this, for that was what it clearly was, but there was something more about it, something he felt he should know but did not. It was beginning to gnaw at him not knowing, this thing that was just there in his line of sight but seemed unreachable. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard bellows for the gates to be opened, and soon enough they are riding into the courtyard of the Red Keep.

That is when the king loses it. “Those ungrateful bastards. Those treacherous curs. They dare attack me here?! I will have their heads, I will destroy them.”

People are looking at the king now, wondering what he is going on about, Jon finds it surprising that they do not know what has happened. The king continues ranting. “They think to get me, here within my own city?! I shall find them and kill them. I shall destroy them and all they hold dear. None shall escape from me. None!”

Something is pushing at Jon, forcing him to think hard, and then he finds himself saying. “Your Grace, acting now might not be the wisest of decisions.”

The king looks at him then, turning eyes of rage onto him. “What?!”

“If the king does not act now, then those fools have won.” Tyrek Lannister snarls.

“Do you know who they are?” Jon asks trying to keep his voice calm, despite the growing sense of fear rising within him. “Do you know where they are hiding?”

“It does not matter. They have attacked their king they must be punished.” Tyrek snarls.

“Of course it matters.” Jon replies, still fighting to keep his voice calm despite the fear growing within him as he thinks he knows who organised this. “If you do not know where they are hiding and who they are, you risk attacking innocent people.”

The king stares at him a moment and then snarls. “And those people out there, who were staring at us as we rode by? They did not seem to wonder why we were riding hard through the streets of King’s Landing, they did not seem to act when those fools began attacking us.”

“They were scared.” Jon says. “When the king shows signs of fear, how else are other people supposed to react?”

The king moves his horse closer toward him then and whispers. “I did not show fear.”

Jon looks at the king, his own heart racing in his chest, he wants to say that the king did show fear, but instead he finds himself saying. “No, of course not Your Grace. I did not mean to say that. What I meant was that, the people who were there when those fools began attacking us, were terrified, they risked being killed in the midst of all that fighting.”

“They should have come to fight for their king. Not hidden behind their house walls like curs.” Tyrek snarls.

“But then, how were they to know that? They did not know what was happening. We cannot take action just yet until we find out what exactly happened there.” Jon says, trying to calm himself.

“Jon is right Your Grace.” Bryce Storm says. “Unless you find out who did this, who ordered this be done, then there will be nothing but chaos. The people of King’s Landing will spend their days in fear once word gets out.”

Jon can see that Tyrek wants to argue, and he wonders at that, usually Tyrek is the calm one, but it seems this attack has really worried him. The king raises his hand and says. “Very well then. Let us move to my chambers, and then we might discuss who did this.” With that the king dismounts and gives his horse to a stable hand who has emerged from somewhere, Jon dismounts as well handing his horse to another stable hand, his friends doing the same.

As they walk toward the Red Keep, the Queen Regent emerges looking worried. “Your Grace, what happened?”

The king stops then, and fixes his mother with a stern and appraising look. “We were attacked in the streets of King’s Landing by fools with knives and arrows. I want Varys to look into that, and I want an order to go out to tell the people to remain calm.” With that the king walks past his mother into the keep, Jon and his friends follow, but they see the Queen Regent looking very worried, very worried.

Silence greets them as they walk through the keep, Jon’s own heart is racing in his chest, he is not quite sure why, but he thinks he knows the answer, or at least it is becoming clearer as to why that might be, the more time he spends thinking about what has happened. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy walks by the king’s side, the other members of the Kingsguard and his sworn sword Sandor Clegane walking around their group. Eventually they come to the king’s chambers, he orders Ser Barristan and Clegane inside and then once they are all in the door is shut. The king looks tired then, tired and worried, and rightly so, Jon sometimes forgets that the king is only as old as Sansa. “Now then, who might want me dead?” the king asks.

There is a long silence, and then Bryce Storm speaks. “Well there is Renly Baratheon for a start. We know he’s moving toward King’s Landing, and you are a grave inconvenience toward him Your Grace.”

The king thinks on this before nodding. “Aye that is true, and that is also his favourite method of removing enemies. The mob attack, I know he did something similar on a smaller scale in the Stormlands once many years ago. But, there was something about this that seems off about it being him.” The king pauses a moment and then looks at Selmy. “I want protection around my brother and sister constantly from now on.” The Lord Commander nods. The king continues. “It seems too aggressive to be Renly though, he is more likely to use poison than a mob attack. Not since what he did all those years ago anyway. No, there must be someone else who did this.”

“There is the obvious enemy. Robb Stark.” Tyrek says then, and Jon feels all the eyes in the room snap to him then. “It would be the quickest most convenient way to get rid of you, Your Grace.”

Jon feels something like anger flash through him, before the king has even gotten a chance to formulate a response, he hears himself speaking. “No.”

“No?” Tyrek asks sounding surprised. “What, you don’t think your brother could do something this dishonourable? Why to him and all those other fools fighting alongside him, you’ve done something just as dishonourable Jon.”

Jon feels as if he has been slapped then, he stares at Tyrek, a mixture of hurt and anger flowing through him. He fights back tears of rage that threaten to spill forth. Fighting to keep himself calm he says. “I do not think Robb would have done this. He does not have the brains nor the deceitfulness to order such a thing, let alone come up with the plan himself Your Grace. And I do not think any of the lords fighting for him would have done something like this, without his permission.”

Evidently, Tyrek does not believe him, judging by the expression on his face, however, he does not say anything, and instead the king speaks. “That is true, your brother does not seem like the type of person who would order this. And knowing the northmen, they are unlikely to do something without his permission. So, that leaves us with one other potential candidate out of the fools who I am fighting. Stannis.”

There is a long silence that follows this, and Jon feels the uneasiness he had felt since the moment they had turned and ran from the attack, begin to grow, he does not think that this was the work of Stannis Baratheon, not the way he knows him at least. And he says as much. “Stannis does not seem the type of man who would do something like this Your Grace. Does he not have some stern dedication to honour and duty?”

The king looks at him and laughs. “Oh, please tell me you do not believe that nonsense. My uncle is good at one thing and that is crafting an image of himself. No, I think he is definitely capable of ordering something like this, and the manner in which the attackers came at us, it reminds me of him. Blunt and to the point. There was no fanciness about it, there was only one thing on their mind and they would not stop until they saw it fulfilled.”

Jon feels slightly calmer then, but then something else comes to his mind. “But why would he want you dead Your Grace? He has not declared himself a king, he has done nothing but sit on Dragonstone for moons on end.”

“That is the very essence of my uncle Jon.” the king says simply. “He sits and broods and watches. All the while planning his own next move. I would not be surprised if this was the opening act of some misguided campaign of his. He has always hated my father, I think that hate might have transferred to me.”

Jon thinks on this and then asks. “What will you do Your Grace?”

The king seems to contemplate this for some time, his face remaining expressionless as he thinks, and Jon feels some of the nerves he felt earlier coming back to haunt him now. Eventually the king speaks, his voice clear. “I shall send one last letter to Dragonstone, demanding that my uncle come here and explain himself to me. If he does not reply to that letter or does not show up, then when the Redwyne fleet comes I shall have him destroyed.”

“You might want to speak to Aurane Waters as well Your Grace.” Horas Redwyne says. “His brother is the Lord of the Driftmark, and has command over several ships which could help in any sort of campaign against Dragonstone.”

A strange expression crosses the king’s face then, as if the name Aurane is unpleasant to him for some reason. But then the look disappears and he says. “Aye, Aurane Waters is someone who could prove most useful, and he does owe me a favour after all.”

Silence falls for a brief moment, then there is a knock on the door, and Ser Lancel-he was knighted after King Robert’s death- enters the room when the king says he can. He seems shaky, as if he has seen or done something terrible, and his voice is filled with raw tension when he speaks. “Your Grace, your mother has met with Lord Tyrion.”

“What about?” the king barks.

“To discuss how best to get your brother out of King’s Landing. They want him safe and away from everything here.” Lancel says.

The king says nothing and merely nods then, a strange expression covering his face.


	30. Tyrion III

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

The attack on his nephew and his nephew’s friends had left them all nervous, the increase in the number of red cloaks and gold cloaks who were patrolling the city and were stationed within the red keep, was a direct result of that. It seemed his nephew’s initial rage and desire to see everyone questioned had been tempered by Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell that was something that Tyrion found very interesting, and slightly worrying. Whilst the bastard remained fervently loyal to the king, it seemed the king was becoming more and more inclined to listen to him, and as such it seemed the king was moving away from those ideals that the Lannisters held dear, and whilst Tyrion did not really have an issue with that, he knew his father would, and as such he knew he needed to do something about that. The question was what.  The king was a strong minded lad, who knew what he wanted and did not want, and whilst he was suggestable, usually he did not really think on anything anyone else said, at least that was what it appeared to be for Tyrion, but then he had a sneaking suspicion that the king did not trust him or Cersei, something he was wise to do. Still, the bastard of Winterfell was an interesting fellow, and that was why Tyrion had asked to meet with him.

They are sat in his solar in the tower of the hand, and Tyrion looks at Jon Snow intently, he looks like a younger version of his father, the solemnness is there, as is the worried expression he saw Ned Stark have on his face almost throughout their entire time in Winterfell. There is a little of his Uncle Benjen in him though as well, in the way his eyes seem to glint a little with suppressed laughter. He has changed since the last time they met, and it seems he has changed for the better. The bastard seems slightly uncomfortable though, shifting around a lot in his chair, his direwolf at his feet, apparently asleep. Tyrion clears his throat and speaks. “So tell me Jon, how are you finding your time within King’s Landing?”

The boy looks at him surprised, as if he was not expecting the question, and then Tyrion realises that it is fear he is seeing in the young man’s eyes. _Surely he does not think me Cersei, I would not wish to intimidate the key to the north._ The boy does eventually speak, his voice reasonably calm sounding, though Tyrion can tell there is some nervousness in his voice. “I am enjoying it a lot my lord. There is a lot to see and explore here, and there is a lot of information in the libraries of the red keep that I have explored and am yet to explore.”

“I did not know you were interested in the libraries Jon.” Tyrion says then. “Last time we spoke, you seemed more intent on learning how to fight and make a name for yourself.”

A look passes through the boy’s eyes then, and Tyrion thinks he sees something akin to annoyance in them, but that look quickly disappears when he speaks. “I still am my lord. It is just that, when one is in the capital of the seven kingdoms, it would be foolish not to see what is kept here within the libraries and to see how things have been shaped by history.”

 _A boy after my own heart, now this most certainly is a change._ Tyrion thinks to himself, aloud he says. “And have you found any specific books or time periods that are most interesting to you?”

The boy seems to think through this for some time, and in the silence, Tyrion takes a moment to look at the boy the see how his face changes when he is thinking. Eventually he says. “I am quite interested in ‘Targaryens and their lords.’ By Maester Crellion. There was a lot in there about how the Targaryens dealt with their lord paramounts, and it seems that they did not truly think on how to handle such issues well.”

Tyrion snorts at that. “That is one way of putting it yes. The Targaryens it seems kept the same attitude when they had no dragons as to when they did have dragons. That they were above everyone else, and that we all had to treat them as if they were gods. It was something that eventually cost them the throne, though not before Aegon the Unlikely did the foolish thing of annoying his lords.”

“I think what he tried to do was a smart thing. The smallfolk are the ones who always suffer when the game of thrones is played, and as such, they have more reason to protest something or the other. Appeasing the smallfolk is a good way to keep the lords on their toes.” Jon responds.

 _An interesting thought that, but then what else does one expect from the son of Eddard Stark?_ “And do you think the way he went about it was the smart thing to do?” Tyrion asks, intrigued to see what the boy will say.

“No, I think asking the lords what they thought was the best way to go about improving the life of the smallfolk, and then going over their heads when they shot his ideas down, was a stupid thing to do. If anything he should have simply implemented the policies straight away. He was the king not a common lord.” Snow says.

Tyrion looks at Snow intrigued then, this was not what he was expecting, most definitely not. “And so, you think he should have done what his father or even his grandfather would have done, and merely implemented the laws and then took the flak later? Would that not have given his lords more room to rebel?”

Snow looks at him with something akin to annoyance. “If they rebelled, he should have cut them down. He was never going to win any competitions by being nice to them. He was the king not a fool. He should have acted like it.”

“And do you think a king should always do that? Do something without asking his lords whether they are okay with it?” Tyrion asks.

He sees the boy’s face become grim then. “I think so yes. A king must not appear weak to his lords, otherwise they will simply look to bring him down. Asking a lord what he thinks is looking weak, especially in a time of war.”

Tyrion looks at the boy then and smiles. “I see, and so do you hold that opinion for this current war?”

The boy looks at him a moment and then responds. “Yes.”

Tyrion is surprised by the boy’s answer, and though he has other questions he would like to ask him he merely says. “Very well Jon, thank you for this time. I shall speak with you again soon enough.” They both stand up and shake hands and then Tyrion watches Jon Snow walk out of his room. He waits a moment and then he walks out of the room as well, followed by his guards, he walks towards Maegor’s Holdfast and his sister’s rooms. He comes to her room and finds Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard standing guard outside, he nods at the man and then enters her room. He finds her sitting in front of her table, staring at a piece of paper. “What is that?” he asks nodding to the piece of paper.

His sister looks at it and then at him and then she says. “Nothing, it is not important.” She hurriedly puts the paper away, though Tyrion is curious as to what the thing is, he lets it slide for now. His sister gestures for him to sit and once he has she asks. “So what is this thing about Dorne you wanted to speak to me about?”

Tyrion is silent a moment thinking through the best way to say what needs to be said, and then he says. “Myrcella will be going to Dorne, to be betrothed to Prince Quentyn. It has to be done, otherwise we will not win the war.”

His sister looks at him, and then she snaps angrily. “And what if they merely take her and kill her? The Martells hate us, or have you forgotten that?”

Tyrion sighs. “They hate father for what he did, they do not hate our entire family, and if they do, then they are fools. This is giving them an opportunity as much as it is giving us one as well sweet sister. See Myrcella married to Quentyn Martell, and they will have a claim to the throne, they will have to make sure that we remain secure, otherwise whatever plots they might start fomenting around her will be for naught.  You think the dragons would even want them to live knowing that they married into the family that brought the dragons down? I do not think so. Furthermore, this marriage alliance, it will most definitely cause divisions within the Martell family. Oberyn Martell wants revenge, as does his niece and his own daughters, but Prince Doran, he wants peace.”

His sister seems to be fighting the urge to either laugh or cry. “And what makes you think that this might be the case? How do we know that they are not simply they are trying to put one over us? Sending her to Dorne might be the beginning of their plan to bring us all down.”

Tyrion looks at his sister surprised by the desperation within her voice. _She is terrified._ He realises then. “Cersei, I do not think the Martells can do something like that so openly. That is more Oberyn Martell, not his brother.”

“And how do you know that it is not Oberyn in power? We do not even know if Doran Martell is still alive, we have heard nothing from Dorne for so long, he could’ve been dead for a long time.” Cersei responds sounding ever fearful.

Tyrion looks at her astounded by just how fearful she sounds. “Cersei, I think we would know if Doran Martell was dead or not. He is a Prince of the realm, it would be a crime for them not to report his death to the throne.”

His sister looks at him as if he has grown a second head. “Do you truly believe that the Martells actually care about that? Doran Martell could be dead, and they would still act as if he is alive.”

Tyrion does not know whether he wants to laugh or scream at his sister. Eventually, he settles for saying this. “Cersei, sister, please, do not go down that route, otherwise dark things shall come forth from there. There are some things that we just cannot question, or think overly much about, otherwise there will never be any peace in our minds.”

“Jaime was supposed to be out by now, he was supposed to be at home now. You said you would have him be home by now. Why is he not at home now?” His sister snaps.

Tyrion’s feels his shoulders stiffen then. “I tried sister, and I am trying. It is not as easy as you might think, there are some things in this world that might not just drop into your lap like that. This is not one of those situations where you can fuck your way out of it. We are at war here, and we must make sure that we are prepared for that.”

His sister seems as if he has just slapped her. “I am merely asking you why you have not done your duty Tyrion. Remember that you are not the hand of the king, father is. You are here by my good graces, and if you say anything that I do not agree with, I can have you thrown out into the cold.”

“Actually, I can do that to either of you.” a voice says, Tyrion turns round and sees the king standing in the doorway looking frighteningly angry.


	31. Jon X

****

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

His conversation with Tyrion was constantly playing through his mind, and he was not sure why. There was something about that conversation that just did not seem to ring true to Jon, it was almost as if there was some sort of game being played within his head, or outside his head and he was stuck within it, unsure of just how to break out and make a name for himself. The questions he had been asked by Lord Tyrion were somewhat confusing as well, and for some reason or the other, Jon was somewhat worried he had given an answer that might well have incriminated himself. Certainly, since his conversation with Lord Tyrion, there had been no further communication between them, indeed, it seemed as if the man was avoiding him. And that was something he was not sure about, all he knew was that the king had gone to see his mother and uncle and then the conversations had all but stopped. He was reassured at the same time he was concerned, the king was under a lot of pressure, and Jon wanted to help relieve that pressure, he just wasn’t sure how.

And now of course, they were riding toward the docks, to see off Princess Myrcella as she travelled to Dorne, Jon was not sure whether that was a good idea or not. He knew that the Martells despised the Lannisters for what had happened during the sack of King’s Landing, and he was not sure whether sending the princess into Dorne would see her come out alive. He hoped it did, he liked the princess, she was kind and sweet, but he had his doubts. And he knew the king did as well, but the king knew that allowing anything but the continuation of the betrothal to happen might well lead to tensions filtering through, and another side adding itself to the war. Something they did not need with Renly and Stannis Baratheon both acting up, as well as Robb, but Jon did not want to think on that today.

Of course it seemed that that was all the members of the king’s retinue could talk about. Jon listens as Bryce Storm says. “I think Renly might well be over extending himself, his displays of pageantry would not have gone unnoticed by the Stormlords. And they are known for not really wanting anything to do with the frilliness of the reach.”

“That is because they are uncultured barbarians.” Horas Redwyne says. “Surely they know that the displays of pageantry as you call them are the one thing that can keep a man’s spirits up during times of war.”

“I might be inclined to agree with you Ser,” Bryce says. “If they were actually doing any fighting. As I am sure you are aware, Lord Renly has done no fighting, and instead prefers to sit on his arse throwing tourneys and fucking his squire.”

Jon sees Horas stiffen then, and he belatedly realises that Loras Tyrell is the man’s cousin. “You have no proof of such accusations Bryce, they could merely be close friends.” Horas responds.

Bryce snorts. “Oh come off it Horas, you know as well as I do that there is more than friendship there between the two of them. And as such, that could be why he does not march. Tyrells are known for their bluster, but not for actually doing anything.”

Jon hides a smirk as he sees the look of discomfort on the Redwyne heir’s face. Tyrek speaks then. “Regardless of whether or not they are doing any fucking, Renly is still a clear threat, and I think something needs to be done to deal with him, before he moves on King’s Landing.”

“What can be done about him?” Jon asks then, speaking for the first time. “He has not openly challenged the throne just yet, yes he has declared himself king, but he seems more than content with sitting around doing nothing. Furthermore, it’s not as if the king has forces he can just throw at the man. Lord Tywin is engaged in the war in the riverlands and is winning that, and the lords of the crownlands are needed here so that Stannis cannot bring himself within reach.”

A strange look passes across Tyrek’s face but he merely nods. “Aye, that is true. And yet, something must be done about him. Horas when did you say your father would be coming here?”

Jon looks at Horas, as they ride through another street, the people gathered, looking at them with much attention. “I do not know, he should’ve been here by now, I am not sure what has kept him.”

“Are you certain he will come at all?” Jon asks then, noting the look that the Redwyne twins share and wondering at it.

“I think I would know if my father was lying to me Snow.” Redwyne says dismissively.

Jon bristles slightly at that. “Well then why has he not come? He should’ve been here weeks ago, and his fleet is nowhere within sight. What is happening?”

“If I knew that, I think I’d share it with the king, not with you Snow.” Horas snarls.

Jon feels himself tense then, and sees Ghost bare his teeth. But before he can say anything, the king speaks. “Enough of this. Redwyne will show up when he does, if he does not, then it will be your heads adorning spikes Horas and Hobber. Now then, what of Stannis, the man seems too quiet and content. I know my uncle, he must be plotting something.”

Tyrek speaks then. “Well, Lancel did say that the Florents have been communicating with him, and that from the spies your mother has on Dragonstone, that there is a red priestess on the island with him.”

“No doubt trying to get him to burn things. And my uncle being my uncle, he is no doubt doing whatever it is she asks. The fool, it will cost him support. Jon, I want that noted down and when the time comes I want it used.” the king says.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Jon says, making a note of that.

They continue riding through the streets of King’s Landing, and Jon notes how the people of the city look at them, there seems to be a mixture of anger and discontent within their gaze, as well as of adoration. It is a strange thing to see, he knows that the Tyrells have kept the usual bountiful food from their kingdom from coming to King’s Landing so far, and that is having a negative effect on the city, with the crown having to rely on foodstuffs from the villages and fields nearby as well as from the rest of the crownlands. A drain on resources that might well have a big consequence soon, if not dealt with. It is with that thought in his mind that he asks. “Your Grace, forgive me for asking, but do you know what might have sparked the attack the last time we were here?”

He expects the king to snarl something back at him, but despite the expression on his face, his voice is reasonably pleasant when he responds. “So far none have come forward with any information, and I do not think we shall find anything else now.”

Jon does not respond, he thinks that responding might not go down too well with the king as he is now. Instead he spends his time merely thinking through various other things that have been bothering him as of late. When his father was arrested, he was given charge over the household that his father had brought to court, and whilst such an honour should have gone to Sansa, he knows why it was given to him. The members of the household have been relatively receptive to him, though some of them have been looking at him as if he has grown a second head. Jon feels quite hurt by that, and though he has been meaning to speak with them about it, he has just never found the words to describe just what it was he wanted to say, and so he has said nothing. And then there is Sansa, something is developing between them, what it is he is not sure, but he thinks it is there. Looks that he thinks she does not see, and the rosiness of her cheeks when he sees her, gods it is enough to drive a man mad, though she is his sister. He cannot allow such thoughts to get in the way of his work. He is the king’s man now, and he must not allow anything to distract him. Let alone the girl who never treated him as her brother. Not like Arya did, he wonders where his sister has gotten to, he hopes she is safe, wherever she is.

His thoughts are interrupted when their party comes to a stop, they are at the docks now. He watches in silence as the king, and his mother as well as Prince Tommen dismount to say goodbye to Princess Myrcella. Prince Tommen is weeping, and it seems the king is fighting hard to keep his tears at bay, a thought that surprises Jon, he had never thought the king one for emotion. Words are exchanged then, and then the king kisses his sister’s cheek and departs. Jon watches as the king mounts his horse, nods to Lord Tyrion, and then turns his horse around and begins riding back to the capital. Jon follows his king’s lead, and turns his horse around riding behind the king, who is guarded by three of the Kingsguard. Something about what he has just seen bothers him, though he is not sure what. The princess had looked different, paler as it were, and the king had been acting very serious throughout everything, more so than might be expected of him. Something happened before they left as well, Jon remembers that, but he is not sure what. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he focuses on the journey before them.

As they move out of the docks and back into the main streets of King’s Landing, he notes that there are more people on the streets now than there were before. That seems odd to him, and he sees the hackles on Ghost’s back rise, his own heart begins hammering within his chest. Something is going to happen now, and he is not sure what. He looks at Tyrek, who merely shrugs, and continues riding, and then a woman comes before them. “You have damned us all Falseborn. You have damned us to the seven hells, the stranger is coming to get us all because of you.” The woman screams.

“Get out of the way.” Ser Barristan barks.

The woman stands there and then she howls. “Death to the usurper, long live the king.” And then she spits. Jon watches as the king looks at the woman, and just as he is about to say something, an arrow punctures the woman’s throat, they all stare in horror as the woman falls to the ground, and then all hell breaks loose. The people surge forward demanding things, shit is thrown and lands on them all, the King and his Kingsguard are pressing forward riding toward the red keep with all speed, Jon following them, his sword drawn, none dare come toward him or Ghost, but he worries, he worries about Sansa, he turns around but he cannot see her through the throng of people. He hears a scream, and he turns fearing the worst, and sees Tyrek ripped from his horse, disappearing into the throng.

They ride hard, and Jon tries to keep his mind clear, his sword raised, somehow he does not need to kill anyone, though he sees people falling to the blows of the red cloaks, gold cloaks as well as the Kingsguard. Eventually he is through the gates and into the courtyard of the red keep. The king is there panting and furious, and there is Sansa, looking dishevelled, but alive. He thanks the gods, breathing a sigh of relief he dismounts from his horse and goes toward her, but stops when another horse comes bounding through, carrying a broken member of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon Moore, a golden dragon attached to his body.


	32. Tyrion IV

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

Myrcella was gone, into the viper’s nest, Tyrion was not quite as convinced as he would like to be that he had made the right decision in sending his niece off to Dorne, and though the king had agreed to it, he had made it quite clear what would happen should anything happen to Myrcella whilst she was in Dorne. To counter that threat, Tyrion had come up with a plan, Myrcella had been sent on ahead with Ser Arys Oakheart and some ten guards, from King’s Landing, they would travel through the southern riverlands which were occupied by Lannister forces and then travel to Lannisport where they would board a ship for Dorne. The girl whom they had sent off to Dorne today was a cousin, some nameless Lannister, who work had been cast over to make look like Myrcella, Tyrion did not want to know how the king had managed to get that done, but he had, and so it had been done. Things had looked relatively peaceful as they had travelled to the docks, there were a lot of people out watching, but nothing serious, and it had only been when they had returned that things had gotten out of hand. A second riot in as many months things were getting out of hand and he was not sure why.

Tyrion looks at his nephew, the king, and sees him fuming. “I want those fools found and killed gods dammit. We should have never allowed this to happen.”

Tyrion heard Jon Snow speaking then. “Your Grace, it is fine, we must gather information now, and we cannot act just yet.”

“That was what you said last time Jon, and look what has happened. Another damn riot has happened. And for what? A member of my Kingsguard is dead, yet another one.” The king fumes.

Tyrion looks around expecting to see Tyrek there at his king’s side, and yet he cannot see him. “Where is Tyrek?” he asks then.

“What?” the king asks. “He is here…” the king trails off then as he turns and sees that his cousin is not there. “Where the hells is Tyrek?” the king asks, sounding scared and angry then.

Snow speaks then. “I saw him he was behind me, and then he got pulled off his horse by the mob. I had thought the red cloaks or the gold cloaks would get him.”

 _Well you certainly did not try very hard to help him Snow._ Tyrion thinks to himself, but then he shakes his head, he is being uncharitable. He looks at the king and sees a look of absolute fear on his face. “The mob got him? Why would they want him?” the king asks.

“Because he is a Lannister Your Grace” Tyrion says. “And our family is not the most popular of families right now.”

“You might not be, but our father is trying to win this war.” Cersei snaps then, her clothes slightly torn, and her face red.

“Lord Tywin is sitting on his arse in Harrenhal mother, it has been Ser Kevan and the Mountain who has been winning the fighting within the riverlands. And as he sits there doing nothing, food is not coming to the city.” the king fumes.

“It is difficult to fight a war, and provide for the city my king. Lord Tywin is doing the best he can.” Cersei replies.

I think we both know that is not true sweet sister. Tyrion thinks, the king says. “What? Like Ser Jaime? They are getting beaten by a boy no older than me in the Westerlands, and they have yet to take Riverrun. We are losing this gods damned war mother.”

Cersei looks as if she has been slapped, and Tyrion feels as if he would laugh if things were not so serious. The king turns to him and says. “I want men sent out into the streets, and I want order brought to the streets. And I want those who started this god’s damned thing found and brought before me.”

Tyrion bows his head. “It shall be done Your Grace.” he pauses then and thinks over how to phrase this next question, eventually he asks. “If I might, how did this start? All seemed peaceful until that woman came before you.”

The king’s expression sours then. “The woman came before me cursing me, and Ser Barristan told her to move, and she was about to move, but then an arrow came and hit her, killing her. It was that that set the crowd off. Wasn’t it Jon?”

 _Interesting how he relies on Snow now, and Snow shows no remorse for Tyrek._ “Yes Your Grace that was how it happened. I do not know where the arrow came from, but something about it just set the crowd off.”

“And something like this happened when Ser Preston was killed?” Tyrion asks dreading the answer.

“Yes.” the king and Snow say in unison.

“Someone is clearly planning these things through, and they are doing it for one reason or another.” Tyrion muses aloud.

Snow hands him a badge then and says. “This was found on Ser Mandon Moore’s body.”

Tyrion looks at it, and feels something within him drop. “A golden dragon.” he looks at his sister and sees a look of absolute fear on her face then. He looks at the king and sees something similar reflected there. “Your Grace, if I might suggest something?” the king nods and he goes on. “I think we had best get back inside, and away from the open for some time. I shall send Ser Jacelyn to deal with the trouble within the capital.”

The king does not even protest, instead he walks inside, clearly shaken, and they all follow him, Tyrion notes how Snow stands between the king and Lady Sansa, his arm around her protectively. He thinks nothing of it though, the king walks back to his own chamber, and Snow walks with him and the Lady Sansa, their wolves following behind. The king’s other companions walk with them as well. Tyrion watches them disappear into the distance, before he turns to his sister and says. “Meet me in the tower of the hand once you have dressed properly.” His sister nods and walks off to her own rooms accompanied by a member of the Kingsguard, Tommen with her. He watches her and then walks off toward the tower of the hand, his mind whirring into action.

He wonders who might be behind this, two attacks in as many months, something is going on. He thinks that he might have an inkling as to whom has done this, the golden dragon is a brief give away, however, he does not know how that can be possible, as far as he knows, that group has been dead for some time. There is a lot that he knows about dragons, but there is also a lot which is subject to rumour and myth. It is a worrying thing, still he will need to deal with the issue as it comes forward. He arrives at the tower of the hand, and walks up the stairs his mind racing, with even more thoughts, he is not sure if he is going down the right pathway here, but if he is not then who in the seven hells knows about that symbol and what it means? Gods there is so much that is not right about this, it is beginning to aggravate him. A knock on the door brings him from his musings, he calls for whoever it is to enter and so the door opens and Cersei walks in, she looks tired and worried, but there is a fierceness about her that had been lacking previously. She sits down and looks at him.

“Well, what do you think this means?” she asks, straight to the point.

Tyrion sighs and then says. “You remember the tales we grew up on? Of King Aegon the Unlikely?”

“Yes what of them?” his sister asks, her voice already beginning to sound sceptical.

“I think there might be more to them than meets the eye. I think that we might need to look through the old records from when the man was king to see if anything of note actually happened during his later reign.” Tyrion says.

“Why?” his sister asks. “What possible reason could we have for wanting to look through those records? It means nothing if things did happen during his reign or not. He is long dead, and anything that might’ve happened during his reign is dead as well. Whatever happened today, it has no link to what happened during his reign.”

“I think you are missing the point sister. The use of this golden dragon is symbolic of his reign. Anyone who uses it clearly knows what it means, and how to draw a reaction. You think if we showed the coin to father, he would not act as if it were nothing?” Tyrion asks.

His sister looks at him sceptically then. “Those coins have not been seen since Aegon himself was alive, and even then they stopped being used before Summerhall. Gods alone knows where someone might have found them, but I think we should not overreact.”

“I think this is precisely the reason why we should overreact, those coins were the reason half the realm bent to him in the first place after the great schism. Those coins and the people behind them are the reason the dragons did not lose their throne. If those coins are coming back into use, you can be damned certain that things are going to be going wrong.” Tyrion says.

His sister looks at him then, fear writ plainly across her face. “And how do you suggest we sort this out brother? Father is in the riverlands, trying to conquer the riverlands whilst the west burns, and Jaime is a prisoner to the Stark boy. Renly and Stannis are slowly but surely creeping closer toward us, and our damned resources are running thin.”

Tyrion looks back at his sister and sighs. “I do not know sister, what I do know is that we have to look through the old records and make sure that nothing out of the ordinary stands out, if something does stand out then we have to act on it, otherwise we shall have another event like today happen. And that is something we cannot afford to allow to happen.”

“And how do you think they have been getting within the city? How have they still got within the city and gotten the power that they evidently have within the populace?” Cersei asks her voice filled with fear.

Tyrion sighs. “I do not know for sure, but I think that there might be one way in which they have gotten so much power. I do not think they ever left the city, and I think whatever happened at Summerhall, whoever died there who was in command, did not truly die.”

His sister snorts then. “And how exactly do you think they have survived for this long?”

Tyrion looks at his sister and then says. “The same way we convinced the people that Myrcella left today and not a few weeks ago.”

“Varys?” Cersei barks. “How?”

“I do not think it was Varys, I do not think the man is that old, but I think someone like him helped them, whoever they are, and I think they have survived because of that.” Tyrion responds.

His sister looks at him then fear evident within her face. “Do you think Varys is a member of this group?”

Tyrion snorts. “Undoubtedly he has some links with it. But I do not think he is completely involved.”

“So what do you think we should do?” Cersei asks.

“I think we find out where they are based, and we give them a welcoming, the way a Lannister would do.” Tyrion responds.


	33. Jon XI

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The riot of King’s Landing had shaken Jon, there had been such brutal hatred within the eyes of those who had rioted that he had been shocked by it. Did these people not realise that the king and the court was doing its best to find ways around the Tyrell blockade of the rose road? Did they not realise that they were finding ways to get food in through the riverlands? Of course they did not, because these people were fools who did not think with their brains, they only thought with their stomachs, and their stomachs were telling them to rebel. The second riot in as many months, and Jon knew the king was just as shaken as he was, the king had spent a lot of time with the council, and less time with his group, it seemed he was trying to get to know how to rule properly, and Jon was glad. They needed a strong king now so more than ever, especially with things as they were. It was a worrying prospect though, all of this change that was coming about and that golden coin he had found on Mandon Moore was causing him to think through everything, he had been reading more and more books trying to figure out what it meant, and so far he had found nothing.

He sighs then, and looks at his sister, Sansa, she is growing more beautiful with every passing day, and is beginning to look a lot more like her mother, that is something that he is not sure what to make of. On the one hand there are the feelings he thinks he has, the thoughts he has when he is on his own, that make him despise himself, and then there are the feelings he has for her as her brother. He barely sees her, but when he does, they are always watched, it makes it difficult for him to think on what he actually wants to say. She would probably be horrified if she found out what he thought of her. To stop the torrents of thought coming through his mind, he turns to her and asks. “How are you Sansa?”

His sister looks at him, surprise writ on her face, and he feels some old resentment flair up inside of him, does she wish, he was Robb? “I am well thank you Jon, and you? How are you?”

Jon laughs then. “Now that is the question isn’t it? I think I am well but I am not sure. There has been a lot going on as of late, and I find myself wondering just how to deal with it.”

He does not know why he is saying the words that he is, he thinks that if this were Arya he was speaking to, she would understand, she always did, but Arya is gone, dead most likely, and so he is left with Sansa. “And what do you mean by that?” his sister asks.

Jon stares at her in disbelief, not sure if she is being serious or not, and then he sighs. “I am not sure if this is the right conversation to have with you Sansa, my apologies my lady.”

“No, Jon, please.” his sister says pleadingly. “Tell me what is wrong, we so rarely get to see one another now, I want to know if I can help you.”

Jon looks at her, and then looks behind him, to where Ser Vrywel lurks in a corner. Looking back to his sister, he whispers. “What do you mean Sansa?”

His sister looks confused for a moment, and Jon finds himself wishing Arya was here, she would know exactly what he meant. “I only mean that if there is something bothering you, perhaps talking about it with someone might help?”

Jon hides a laugh then, that was something he heard Lady Catelyn say to her children any numerous times, but never to him, no he was not to share his troubles with anyone. He looks at his sister then, she looks just like her lady mother, and for a brief moment he feels an old hatred flare within him, before it is quickly extinguished, she is his only family within King’s Landing, it makes no sense for him to hate her. Rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to relieve the stress he feels he eventually says. “The riot has been worrying me. It was so sudden and abrupt, I do not know if things are happening behind the scenes or not, but something is going on.”  Almost as soon as he has finished speaking, he regrets voicing his concerns, he should not be speaking to Sansa about this.

Sansa however, it seems has her own thoughts on the matter. “I know, it is worrying isn’t it? The fact that those people could just come out of nowhere and rebel like that. Do they not know what is being done to try and help them? How could they be so ungrateful?”

“Because they are hungry, and when people are hungry they do not think properly. I do not think it would take a lot to figure out what it was that was causing their unrest.” Jon says, fighting hard to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“What do you mean?” his sister asks.

Jon looks at Sansa and begins shaking his head. “I do not think this is the right conversation to be having.”

He goes to turn away then, but Sansa grabs his arm and whispers. “Please Jon, I barely speak to anyone anymore, please just tell me what you mean.”

Sighing, Jon looks at his sister and says. “This war is getting out of control, there are elements of society working within the capital, that none know about I think, and I think soon enough the time will come when we shall have to make a choice.”

“What sort of choice?” Sansa asks.

Jon swallows then, and looks into his sister’s eyes, and says. “Whether we want to fight for the just and order, or for chaos.”

“And what would you choose?” his sister asks, looking at him with her mother’s eyes.

Jon hesitates for barely a moment before he says. “I would just order. We cannot allow chaos to consume the realm Sansa, otherwise we are all in danger.”

“What does this mean for Robb then?” Sansa asks. “After all, he has been fighting the king, the rightful king. He has been causing chaos. Does this mean he must die?”

Jon closes his eyes then, not sure of how to respond, it is an issue he has thought of for a long time now. Eventually he opens his eyes, and finds Sansa looking at him intently. “I do not think that Robb will come into danger. I think if we can remove those who are giving him such bad advice and make him come to the table, then perhaps he might see sense.”

He knows just how foolish that sounds, but he has to hope. To do anything else, would be tantamount to giving up, and Jon is not sure that he is ready to give up just yet. “But will he? He had a chance to come to the table when the terms were offered, and he offered ridiculous terms in response. We both know that Jon, we were both there. Why would he give up when he is winning?”

Jon sighs. “He is not winning completely, the entire southern Riverlands are under Baratheon control, and as such, sooner or later his Riverlords are going to want to fight back or reach an agreement. I do not know what it is that is keeping him fighting, but sooner or later he will need to come to the table.”

“We both know Robb though Jon, we know he is stubborn and will not move unless he thinks it is right. Why would he come to the table now? His actions suggest he thinks he is doing the right thing.” Sansa responds, sounding just like her mother then that Jon wants to yell at her.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and responds. “I do not know, but what I do know is that if Riverrun is threatened or even taken, he will lose the support of the Riverlands, and then he will have to come to the table.”

“So you would fight against him and try and break him?” Sansa asks, her voice sounding disapproving.

“If it means keeping him alive? Yes I would do that.” Jon responds.

“And if he thinks you have betrayed the family?” Sansa asks.

Jon closes his eyes and feels his anger beginning to grow. “Then he needs to learn to grow up. If what I am doing helps keeps the family together then I will have little regret. I do not want him to die fighting some war, because his lords and his pride got in the way of common   sense.”

His sister puts a hand on his cheek then, and he looks at her and feels the urge to kiss her. “And if it is too late for him? What then?”

Jon looks at his sister, and feels his breath quickening, he does not know why though. “It is never too late to make someone see the error of their ways.”

“Even those who wear crowns?” his sister asks.

“Especially those who wear crowns.” Jon responds.

His sister pulls her hand away then and looks as if he has just stung her. He does not know why, and it angers him, this whole situation angers him. “I do not know what to think Jon. There is just too much going on within the realm, and it feels as if we are being pushed one way or another.”

Jon puts his hands on his sister’s arms then and says. “Do you want to remain safe and see home again?”

“Yes.” his sister replies.

“Then trust me, I will make sure we do some day.” Jon responds.

His sister looks at him and then asks. “And what if I told you I knew someone who might be able to help us get out of here to Winterfell?”

Jon stiffens then. “Who?” he asks.

Sansa looks at him a moment and then she whispers. “Ser Dontos Hollard. He claims that he has a way of getting me out of King’s Landing and to safety.”

Jon looks at his sister and feels something akin to tension fill him. “He could be lying to you Sansa, Hollard is a drunk, and he might be working for someone who might want you dead.”

“I don’t think so. He owes me his life, remember Jon? He would not lie to me.” Sansa says.

Jon looks at his sister, and sees the intense sincerity that he knows she can possess, and he sighs. “This man, did he mention that he could take me as well?”

Sansa thinks for a moment and then responds. “He said he could take me away from here, but he said nothing else. I am sure if I ask, he can take you as well.”

Jon thinks on this, and then says. “Very well, when you next meet with him, ask him and see what he says. Until then keep safe.” he leans forward and kisses her brow, before turning and walking out of the room. He walks in silence for a moment his guards walking behind him, when he is sure he is out of earshot, he stops and turns to his men and says. “Find out who Hollard is working for, and when you have kill him.” the men nod and then he keeps on walking.

He keeps thinking over what his sister had said, he does not know whether or not Robb can be brought into the fold, he hopes so, by the gods, does he hope so, but he is not sure. Sansa is right, Robb is stubborn and sometimes that stubbornness can lead to him doing some very stupid things. As he comes close toward his own chambers, he pauses, for he can hear voices, signalling to his men to keep quiet, he listens in to the conversation. “This was just the beginning, soon enough there will be more, and they will be greater. The master is coming home.”

“When?”

“Soon. Be ready for it.”

Jon looks around the corner, and sees a hooded figure speaking to a man who looks strangely like Lancel Lannister.


	34. Jory I

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jory Cassel**

The New Year had seen relatively quiet celebrations within the Red Keep and the capital, the aftermath of the riots of King’s Landing had caused the king and his council to become rather cautious when it came to overt displays of wealth and pleasantry when their people were hungry. Jory was not quite sure what was happening to the food that was surely being sent from the Riverlands by Lord Tywin to court, but he knew that soon enough a reckoning would be coming. That was the one thing Lord Jon and Lord Eddard had in common, they could both sense when the mood was souring, and by the gods it was souring within King’s Landing. Lord Eddard had been a good man, but he had been slightly foolish in some regards, far too trusting, and that had led to his death. Lord Jon was trusting as well, but he was slowly developing into a man, a man his uncle Brandon would’ve been had he not died. Cunning and smart, something that was needed within King’s Landing and Winterfell as well, for whilst Lord Jon might think his brother might be brought back to the fold, Jory truly doubted it. Robb Stark was too much like Lord Eddard to ever bend the knee now, and it would be his death. A shame really, but that was the way of life.

As it was, Lord Jon had asked him to look into a few things, and that was what he was doing now, the streets of King’s Landing stank of filth, shit and piss, but it was becoming a rather comforting smell as it were. Jory looks at Tobho Mott the smith and says. “When last we met Tobho, I had asked you to make sure that the boy who was your apprentice here did not leave. And yet he has gone. Why?”

Mott looks nervous then. “I…I had no say in the matter, a man came said he was acting in the name of the Hand of the King and took him away. I could not stop him, even if I wanted to.”

Jory looks at the man, not sensing any hint of a lie within his words, and still he asks. “And what did this man look like? What did he sound like? What did he say specifically?”

The smith look nervous then. “He... he had dark brown hair and he sounded foreign, as if he was not from around here, or even from Westeros itself. I thought it was a bit odd truth be told, I had thought the hand of the king had only northmen in his service. As to what he said, he merely said that the hand of the king asked that the boy come with him and nothing else. He had a piece of paper from the hand as well.”

“Do you have it here?” Jory asks intently.

“Yes,” the man says looking around before eventually finding and handing Jory a scroll that has the seal of Lord Eddard on it. “He gave that to me and then the boy left with him.”

Jory reads through the letter, noting the irregularities in it, clearly this letter was not written by Lord Eddard, but he is not going to say that to this fool now. “And did the boy leave willingly?” he asks, looking up from the letter.

Mott is silent a moment and then he nods. “Yes, which was the strange thing, I did not think that the boy knew the man, and he had only met the hand of the king once or twice, no more. But he left as if he was intent on doing so.”

 _Clearly some element of trickery was at play here, and if what Lord Jon said is true, then it is possible that the same people are involved in this._ Jory thinks to himself, he looks at the man then and asks. “Did the man say where they were going?”

“No Ser, he did not. I did ask, but he refused to tell me.” Mott responds.

Jory nods, and starts making to leave the forge, when the man speaks once more. “There was something else Ser. There was something else that seemed odd about the man.”

“And what was that?” Jory asks.

“There was a boy with him, a boy with grey eyes and a long face, who looked exactly like the hand. But I did not know that the hand had brought his son with him, I knew he had brought his girls but not his son.” Mott responds.

 _That’s because the hand’s sons look like their mother apart from Lord Jon._ Jory thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “Very well, thank you for your time.”

“I won’t be in trouble now will I?” the man asks sounding desperate.

Laughing, Jory responds. “Not if you keep your mouth shut, and tell no one else about this conversation or our previous conversations, you understand?”

“Yes Ser.” the man responds, and then as if remembering something he says. “Another man came here a couple of days ago Ser. With a mockingbird on his doublet, asking about the boy.”

“And what did you tell him?” Jory asks looking expectantly at the man.

“I said that the boy had gone off somewhere. But I did not say where or why or with whom Ser.” Mott responds.

Jory nods, and then turns and walks out of the forge. He thinks he knows what is happening now, but he will try to keep his judgement to himself before he tells Lord Jon, or the king. As he walks, he observes the people of King’s Landing, he notes their hunger, and the look of desperation in some of their eyes, and he thinks to himself, that perhaps the time is coming for the grand movement as his uncle and father often spoke of when he was a boy, the movement that saw the dragons removed might well be coming back. He does not think it will succeed, but it might do, and if it does, he has to make sure that Lord Jon is safe. Lady Sansa, she is not so important, but Lord Jon, he most definitely is. As he comes to his next destination, a tavern near the foot of Aegon’s hill, he shakes his head and clears his thoughts. He opens the door and nods to the barman who says. “He’s in the back Ser.” Jory nods his thanks and keeps walking, opening a door and finding his next person of interest, sat alone drinking some ale or the other.

Jory sits down next to the man, and has to fight the feeling of disgust that overcomes him at the smell radiating from the man. Ser Dontos Hollard the last of a proud and ancient line brought low, a shame really. Still, Jory looks at him and clears his throat, when the man looks at him, it becomes obvious that he is clearly intoxicated. “What do you want?” the man barks out.

Jory keeps his voice calm, and tries to fight off the impatience he feels growing within him. “Well, a good day to you as well Ser Dontos, how are you faring this fine morning?”

The man takes a deep swig of his ale and then puts the glass down with a thump, his words slurred. “I am well, and drunk. And alive, blissfully alive, thanks to the good Lady Sansa, so I cannot complain. And you? I do not know your name Ser.”

Keeping his voice neutral, Jory responds. “My name is not important, but it is good to know that you are well. As for Lady Sansa, that is why I am here. I have heard you are interested in her. Why?”

The man sways slightly, and Jory starts wondering if this was such a good idea, but then he shakes his head. Lord Jon had asked him to find out more, and so he will. Eventually the man speaks. “Because, she saved me, and because she is very beautiful.”

“You understand she is the king’s betrothed, and such any interest you show in her could be shown as treasonous.” Jory says calmly.

The man looks at Jory as if he has grown a second head. “But you do not think they will marry? Surely not Ser, after all Lady Sansa’s father and her brother are traitors, and now, well now that makes her fair game.”

Jory feels himself tense, and has to flex his hands then, to keep himself from strangling Hollard. “And yet the king has not dissolved the betrothal, so then, surely that means whatever it is you are doing is bordering on treason. If I were you I would stop.”

The man smirks then, and Jory knows that he is going to get the answer he has been searching for. “Ah, but then, I would not get the pay that I have been promised. A chance to restore my family to its greatest glories, and all for a pretty penny and delivering the whore to an interested party.”

Ignoring the slight to Lady Sansa, Jory looks at the man and asks. “And who pray tell is it who is promising you the funds for doing this thing?”

The man smiles then. “A man with a very powerful wallet, and powerful friends within places in the Vale as well as the north. Someone who wants to get his revenge for the wrongs done to him by many people.”

At the man’s words, Jory thinks he knows who the man is talking about, but he decides to see if the man will say it himself, and so he waits, and eventually after what seems like an age, the man speaks. “Petyr Baelish wants her.”

“And he would risk everything that he has gained here by doing so. Why would he do that?” Jory asks, keeping his voice neutral.

At that, the man laughs, spilling some beer onto the table. “Oh come now Ser, surely you have heard the rumours, and the tales the man speaks of at court. He boasts of how he has taken Lady Sansa’s mother’s maidenhead, and how she enjoyed it, and how she was in love with him and not Lord Stark. That he is the only person capable of bringing the Tullys and the Vale into line. As well as that brat who is fighting in the west. The mother, and he wants the daughter now.”

“And how do you know this?” Jory asks intrigued.

The man looks at him then, and his eyes look so clear that it seems frightening just how lucid he appears in that moment. “Because the man told me. He told me all of it, all his desires, because I am just a drunk, and a drunk does not have much sway or influence over anything now do they?”

Jory nods, as if he is agreeing with the man, and his bitterness, all the while, his right hand is moving down to the knife at his belt, as the man continues to prattle on about something or the other, Jory sees him lean more toward Jory, and as the time approaches, Jory brings the knife out and quickly slits the man’s throat, putting his hand over the man’s mouth so he does not scream or make a noise. He lowers the man to the ground and then removes his hand from the man’s mouth, cleans his knife using the man’s doublet, and then stands and walks out of the room. He nods to the barman, who nods in response, and then he walks out of the tavern.

It does not take him too long to come before the king and Lord Jon, and when he sees them he bows his head and says. “It is done my lord, my king. The man will not trouble Lady Sansa anymore.”

“And who was he acted for?” the king asks.

“Lord Baelish Your Grace.” Jory responds.

Jory sees the king look at Lord Jon then, and hears him say. “You know what must needs be done.”


	35. Jon XII

****

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The conversation he had had with Jory and with the king still troubled him, it gnawed at him. That there were people out there who wanted to use Sansa for whatever nefarious reason they had, was something that worried him and angered him. The king had increased the guard over her, and had limited her activity, so that she never left the red keep without someone actually there with her at all times. Jon had considered asking if he could put some men from Winterfell around her, but he had considered against it, it would arouse too much suspicion if they did something like that. And though it pained him to see Sansa so alone now, without any sort of hope beyond the slim offerings he could give her, he felt more reassured now that she would not commit treason unknowingly. His anger was largely saved for Baelish, the man who was trying to use his sister against him and the king, and the man was supposed to be dead, but the king wanted him alive, for just a little while longer, just whilst the war with Renly continued, for it seemed the man had a secret he could use to bring down the fool who had crowned himself with thorns. Still, Jon did not like the man, and the fact he was now meeting with him, was something he considered horrendous, but necessary.

The man sits opposite him, and Jon wonders just what games he is playing, what sort of viper, Petyr Baelish truly is. Clearing his throat he begins speaking. “My lord Baelish, thank you for coming to meet with me. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I have heard much about you.”

The man smiles, a slimy smile that makes Jon want to shiver. “It is a pleasure to be here my lord Jon. And I must say, I too have heard much about you. And I must agree, it is good to finally meet you in person.”

 _Is he playing a game with me already?_ Jon wonders to himself, but he does not want his head clouded with such thoughts just now, so he keeps them silent and instead responds. “Well then, now that we have gotten the pleasantries out of the way, I was wondering if you might be able to tell me more about yourself. You see, it is not every day that someone from as obscure origins as yourself comes to be in such a high position within the court and council. And if I am to serve on the King’s Council, I would know my fellow council members.”

Baelish smiles once more. “Ah yes, congratulations on your appointment as master of laws my lord. Truly, it seems you have earned it. But, what would you like to know about me? There is not much to tell really, I am a simple man from simple origins.”

 _Do not think to play coy with me Baelish, if you want to know something about me, come and tell me something about you. I am not my father, to stumble blindly in to your web._ Aloud, Jon merely says. “Well, where did you come from? Where are your holdings? And what made Jon Arryn see you in a light that deserved appointment?” That last bit is said with a bit more scorn than Jon intended, but still, the thought that this common born fool could rise so high is grating.

Baelish gives Jon one of his slimier smiles then and says. “Well, since you have asked so nicely, I suppose, I would be remiss in not telling you. My grandfather came from Braavos long ago, serving as a sellsword for some lord or the other within the Vale. And this lord decided to give some small part of his territory off to my grandfather, this land happens to be in the Fingers. Hence my name, Littlefinger. My grandfather died when my father was but a lad, and as such, he had to make his own way in the world. He saved Lord Hoster Tully’s life during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and the two became friends. And when the time came, I was sent to foster in Riverrun.”

“Growing up with Lady Catelyn and her family then?” Jon asks.

Baelish nods. “Yes. It was an interesting experience, and it was most definitely something that helped shape my view of the world.”

Jon feels himself wanting to ask the man what his view of the world is, but he decides against doing so, and instead asks. “And were you close with the Tullys?”

A guarded look crosses Baelish’s face then, but it quickly disappears, and is replaced by a more amenable look. “Yes, I suppose in a manner of speaking you could say so.”

“A manner of speaking?” Jon asks curious.

“I was close to the girls, Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa, we were of the same age, and as such became like brother and sister to one another. Whilst Ser Edmure was a bit too young when I was there for us to develop any sort of true bond. But yes, we were friends.” Baelish says.

Jon looks at the man and asks. “And did you remain friends with them? Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa, after you finished fostering?” He knows something of the duel that was fought between this man and his uncle Brandon, but he does not know the full story, not being a full Stark, or at least not one of Lady Catelyn’s brood.

There is a moment of silence, and then the man responds. “Yes. Yes, I did remain friends with them. We correspond by letter occasionally. Or at least we did before the war began.” Jon feels his hands tighten then. “A shame what happened about Lord Stark, just when he was so close to being spared death.”

Jon ignores that remark, and instead asks. “And, how often did you communicate with Lady Catelyn?”

A strange look crosses Baelish’s face then, it seems as if it is one of hunger, but also one of annoyance, a strange look indeed, and one that Jon is not sure how to respond to. Indeed, his difficulty in interpreting that look is made worse by the fact that it is gone just as quickly as it appears. Baelish’s voice shows no sign of the shifting emotions on his face though. “Sometimes every week, sometimes every few moons. We have not spoken since the war began though. Since she was here in King’s Landing in fact.”

That surprises Jon. “She was here in King’s Landing?”

Baelish looks at him, a look of happiness crossing his face. “Why yes she was. I suppose now it is alright to say this. She was here meeting with your father and myself, to discuss the source of the attack on your brother Bran.”

At this Jon stiffens. “What about the attack?” he asks.

“Well, you see, the knife that was used to attack your brother belonged to someone within the King’s own court.” Baelish responds.

Jon looks at him, a desire to find out more growing within him, but also a deep sense of mistrust there as well. “And that was the last time you saw her?” he asks.

Baelish chuckles then. “I am surprised my lord. I would have thought you would have wanted to know who the knife belonged to.”

Jon struggles to clear his throat and fight the anger down. “Who the knife belonged to is not relevant now, it is in the past. I want to focus on other things now.”

Baelish smiles then. “Ah, of course, my apologies my lord. I forget sometimes that you are not the trueborn son of Eddard Stark, you have made your allegiance quite clear.”

Jon stiffens then. “What is that supposed to mean my lord?” Ghost is standing up now his hackles beginning to rise.

Baelish holds his hands up then apologetically. “Nothing my lord, forgive me if I stepped out of line. I was merely making an observation.”

Jon wants to snarl at Baelish then, but he reminds himself of why he asked to meet with the man and so he says calmly. “It is nothing to worry about my lord. So then, what more do you have that can be of use to me?”

Baelish smirks then. “Well, I think there is a lot of information that I have gathered that might be of use to you.”

“I meant about the Tullys and the Arryns my lord. Those are the two houses that most concern me at the moment. You still kept in touch with Lady Lysa until the war began did you not? What has she been saying?” Jon asks.

Baelish looks at him then, a smirk growing on his face. “Well my lord, she has been saying many things. She is asking when she should bring her men into the field of battle, and how to deal with her bannermen who continue asking for her hand. She is asking for a lot of advice and as such I am answering in the way I think best suits the crown’s purposes.”

“And how is that?” Jon asks.

“Through remaining neutral throughout the early stage of the war. There was a lot of love for your father in the Vale my lord, and as such they want to fight for your brother Robb. However, Lysa fears for her son’s life, and so she keeps herself out of the fighting. I do believe that might be the way to make sure your brother stops his foolish war as well.” Baelish says.

Jon feels himself tense then. “How?” he asks suspiciously.

“Through returning the Lady Sansa to him. He wants his sisters back that was why he marched to war in the first place, was it not my lord?” Baelish responds, Jon nods and the man continues. “Well then, it is simple enough, one must make sure that the tempting offer of her return is there, and I know for a fact that Lady Catelyn will push your brother to come to the negotiating table to make sure that the fighting stops and her daughter is returned safe and sound.”

Jon can see the sense in what is being said, but there is still some doubt within him. “Robb is burning the Westerlands, why would he want to come back and accept some peace deal that might well see his head on a spike?” he asks.

“Because he gets his sisters back, and he gets a bride out of the deal as well. Furthermore, do you really think the king wants to have to keep fighting a war on three fronts, when his two uncles are the more serious threat?” Baelish asks.

Jon considers this and then says. “And how would you propose making sure that Sansa is there, ready for the exchange to happen?”

“I have my means my lord. Your family wants to become whole again, do you not think if you were the one who could provide a way for her to be returned to your family, that you would be welcomed back into it? That your sister would not be grateful for being returned?” Baelish asks.

Jon can see the sense in what the man is saying, and yet there is something there within the man’s words that he does not know how to process. “I…I… how would this be done?” he asks instead.

Baelish smiles then. “I have my ways my lord, all I need you to do is to agree to make a small agreement with me, and we can progress onwards with this.”

“What agreement?” Jon asks.

“That when this is all said and done, you will make sure that your brother knows who it was who helped his family, and who it was who made it possible for his two most beloved family members to come home.” Baelish responds.

Jon takes a deep breath and then says. “Very well.”


	36. Renly I

**2 nd Month of 299 A.C. Storm’s End**

**King Renly I Baratheon**

He could still hear his brother’s harsh words, he could hear the bitterness behind them, and he felt nothing but contempt for his brother. Stannis had always been one to complain about something when it did not go his way, Renly could remember when it was he who Robert had named Lord of Storm’s End, not Stannis, and how his brother had complained about that, without stopping to think that Robert might’ve done it for a reason. Stannis was a man then, had proven himself somewhat with the capture of the place during the rebellion, and so could be trusted to hold the place against any other Targaryen attempts to regain it. But he had not seen it that way, no Stannis had only seen the slight and had ignored Renly then, had never written back to him and never said why. Renly had only been a little boy then, he did not know why his older brother, his former hero had abandoned him. And he hated Stannis for that, as he hated him now. He would bring Stannis down or die trying, for that man was far too dangerous to allow to live, not with that red whore there left to her own devices. He needed her dead, but he was not sure how to get that done, he had heard about how she had killed Cressen, that old fool who loved Stannis more than sense. He would need a plan.

As it was, he was in his tent, listening to his main commanders discuss the battle that was coming. “The sun will be in our eyes Your Grace, it will be an impediment to the archers, and therefore mean that we shall be charging in blind. We cannot allow Stannis to get the hill, for if he gets the hill we are done for.” Lord Tarly says.

“He has five thousand men, how might he do us in, when we have five times  that number?” Loras asks.

“He can fire down on our cavalry Ser, and if he does that, then we shall be stuck. Forgive me, but I do not think you want to know what your lord father would do if his cavalry was done for.” Lord Tarly responds.

Renly sees his lover tense then, and looks at him and shakes his head. “What you say is true Lord Randyll, but I do not think Stannis will consider taking the hill. For you see my brother wants to prove something to those lords from the Stormlands who are fighting for me. He wants to prove that he can fight fairly and win. Lord Mace does not truly know how to use the mounted men that we have brought with us. He will throw them into the fire more times than is reasonable, that much is true. That is why he is not going to be commanding them, you are.”

There is a moment’s pause and then Loras speaks. “But Your Grace...”

Before Loras can continue, Renly interrupts. “But nothing, your father has shown himself to be incompetent, he came with the men despite me warning him that to do so would be to risk the position we have at Bitterbridge. If the man dies, I would not be surprised. I am sorry Loras but it is true. Lord Tarly shall command five thousand of the mounted men, and shall lead the first charge, you shall command the second battalion and hold down until we have had impact.”

He can tell Loras wants to protest, but wisely the man remains silent. Lord Rowan speaks then. “And what of the foot that we have brought Your Grace? They might come into use if one were to station them near Elenei’s rocks. Keep them near there, and we can smash into Stannis’s meagre host from the right.”

Renly shakes his head. “No, he will think of that. It was the first thing he taught me when I was a child. A force can always hamper another force if they are on Elenei’s rocks. He will make preparations for that.  No, what we must do is keep the foot back, hold them behind the line of archers. We must keep them near the reserve, so that they might be used to crush Stannis when he marches forward.”

“If he survives the onslaught of the first and second charge Your Grace.” Lord Tarly responds. “With the number of horse we have here, I do not think he will.”

Renly looks at the man and sighs, these men are all confident in their ability to win, which is a good thing in one sense, but in another it is not, for it leads to overconfidence. “Stannis’s men might fall down and break, but he will not. He will keep going as will his guards. As will that whore of a witch he has with him. Does anyone know anything about her?”

“Surely you do not think he will take that woman with him into the field of battle Your Grace?” Lord Rowan asks. “It would not be right.”

“My brother has never cared about chivalry Lord Rowan. He wants only to win, and to win hard. But he cannot win, not with the number of men we have, and so he will bring that woman with him. You all felt the same thing I did when she spoke. We are approaching a dangerous time, what do people know of her?” he asks.

Loras speaks then. “She is from Asshai, and it seems she has some power over Stannis, otherwise she would not be here, and would still be on Dragonstone. She has influence over the man’s wife.”

“Ah yes, the Florent woman. Tell me Lord Tarly, do you think the Florents will turn on us?” Renly asks.

“Had you left them at Bitterbridge, I would have said yes Your Grace. But now, now I am not so sure. I do not think Lord Alester is so great a fool as to try something such as that, but I cannot be sure.” Tarly says.

Renly nods and then says. “Take the man’s son and put him in the first charge. If they think about turning, kill him.”

There is a long moment of silence then as his lords digest what he has said, Renly can feel the old fluttering of nerves, and this has been why he has avoided coming to the field so far. He has been content to watch Stark and Lannister batter one another to the ground, but now, with battle seeming inevitable, he wonders if he is strong enough for this. He wonders what his brother would do-Robert, not Stannis, never Stannis- and he thinks he knows. Robert would lead the charge himself and go plundering in. And as for their father, well he only has Robert and Stannis’ word for this, but he thinks Lord Steffon would wait, wait for Stannis to exhaust himself, and then destroy him. He closes his eyes, not wanting to think about it, and then the silence is broken. “You could always march now Your Grace. The advantage of surprise would be yours.”

Renly does not need to look around to know that it was Loras who said that. “I will not do something as dishonourable as that. Robert would never have done it, nor shall I. When I defeat Stannis, I shall do it with the sun blaring in the sky, and the men as my witnesses. I will not kill him as a craven would, in the dark.”

There is another long moment of silence then, Renly can feel the tension within the men who are in the tent with him, and he turns and looks at them. Tarly stands strong and firm, not blinking or wavering, a slave to his duty, like Stannis, Rowan stands looking around the tent, shifting his focus, committed but not quite, and then there is Loras, sweet Loras, his lover, and his friend. Loras who convinced him to take the crown, Loras would go to the ends of the seven hells for him, Renly knows. “Leave us.” he says then, wanting some alone time with Loras, he does not care that Tarly and Rowan bow and leave immediately, not bothering to take Loras with them. And now it is just the two of them, Renly looks at Loras and his love looks at him. “You might as well say what is on your mind now Loras.”

His lover stiffens then, but then says. “I think you are being foolish by not attacking now. So what if it is dishonourable? Do it now and win. The advantage of surprise would be on your side. And then you would not need to face the sun when it comes.”

Renly sighs then. “It is not as simple as that Loras.”

“Why not?” Loras asks, sounding angry. “If you attack now, you avoid the foolishness that will come of a battle fought with the sun blaring in your face. Surely fighting now will help soothe your nerves as well. And don’t tell me you are not nervous, for I know you are.”

Renly looks at his lover then, he really looks at him, and he sees how shaken Loras looks, and he remembers, just how much this campaign is taking out of them both. He sighs, his shoulders slump, and he walks over to Loras, putting a hand on the man’s cheek. He whispers. “I am a king Loras, nothing I do is simple. If I attack now and win, then I might well win the battle, but my reputation is done for. I cannot win more men if my reputation is done for.”

“Robb Stark attacked the Lannisters at night. And his reputation is not damaged.” Loras points out.

Renly laughs then. “That is because he did that before he became king. You think that if he had done that with a crown on his head, people would be praising him? Doubtful, they would be cursing him. No, I must fight during the day, and I must make sure that it happens as I have planned.”

“And if it does not?” Loras asks, genuine fear in his voice.

Renly removes his hand then for a moment, and kisses Loras’s cheek. “Then I will most likely fall.” he holds a hand up before Loras can protest. “There are far too many things going on within this camp for me to explain now, but know this, I love you Loras, I have done for a long time, and I will never stop loving you. Not whilst there is still breath in my body. I just want you to promise me one thing.”

“Anything.” Loras says immediately.

Renly smiles then, and kisses Loras full on the lips, before breaking the kiss, he takes a shuddering breath and says. “If I fall in battle, do not go over to Stannis. Take your sister and ride hard for King’s Landing. Swear yourself to Joffrey.”

“Why?” Loras asks sounding surprised.

Renly closes his eyes briefly and then whispers. “If I die, then there will be none strong enough to prevent Stannis, not on their own. He must be stopped, and he cannot be allowed to sit the throne. Go to Joffrey, and swear yourself to him. Your father and his men will follow. Promise me this. It is the only way you will remain safe.”

He can tell Loras does not completely understand why he is being asked to do this, but he nods his head and says. “I will do so my love. But it will not come to that.”

Renly laughs sadly. “We shall see. Now, if you do not mind, I need to sort out a few things. I’ll see you later.” With that he kisses Loras, deepening the kiss, his hand coming to cup the back of his lover’s head, he wants to savour this moment, for he knows this will be his last with his lover. He breaks then kiss after a while, and smiles, winks at Loras and then sends him on his way. He watches Loras walk out of the tent, a heaviness settling over his heart, once his lover has gone, he turns round and tries to settle his breathing. He does not know how long he stands there, but eventually he hears a whisper of movement, and he laughs. “I knew it would come to this. You never did have the balls to do anything yourself.” He turns round then, looking at the thing slithering towards him. With a laugh, he says. “Come then, let us dance brother.”


	37. Loras I

**2 nd Month of 299 A.C. Storm’s End**

**Ser Loras Tyrell**

Renly was dead, how it had happened Loras did not know, did not care, because Renly was dead. His love was gone, his throat slit, there was blood on the floor and there was blood on the tent flap. He had killed two members of the Rainbow Guard in his anger, how had they allowed their king to be slain? Had they not felt the man who had done the deed come in? It was all too much for him, he felt as if he was falling apart, being torn in two. Nothing made sense, nothing made sense anymore. Renly was gone, and his world was dead. Anger that was the only emotion that made sense right now that was the only thing that mattered. Anger, at Stannis Baratheon, the coward who had slain his own brother in this manner. Stannis Baratheon, a man who would know what it was to die before the year was out. Loras had sworn that, he had taken the oath, he would not rest until Stannis was dead and Renly was avenged. So much anger and hate, he knew his father and his father’s lords were discussing what to do, but there was only one thing they could do in Loras’s mind.

“I want to find and kill Stannis.” he says then, his voice hoarse.

His father looks at him then. “Stannis will have gone by now Loras. He would have heard of Renly’s death and he would have gone.”

“His men remain outside Storm’s End my lord, as do ours. He is not going to be going anywhere.” Lord Rowan says.

Loras sees his father glare at the man, but he finds himself speaking up in support. “Stannis will not go until he has gotten more men. He has betrayed the code of honour, and he will take what he believes is his. I want to find him.”

“You will be killed before you even get anywhere near him.” His father says.

Loras stares at his father then. “Not if I have the archers supporting me, not if I have Lord Randyll and the mounted men supporting me. We will cut Stannis and his men down to shreds.”

“The lords of the Stormlands will stand in your way Ser Loras.” Lord Randyll says. “King Renly is dead, and now they will fight for Stannis. They will not fight for the Tyrells, and they will not fight for Queen Margaery, for she is not with child.”

“Then I will kill them as well. I will kill anyone who gets in my way.” Loras says.

“And you will die.” his father says. “Loras come now, I know you are grieving, but you have to understand that doing this thing you are proposing now, and it will not achieve anything. There is far too much ground between here and there. You will be killed the moment you mount a horse and ride. Renly would not want that.”

Anger blooms within Loras, it is growing, and it is consuming him. There is nothing within him that matters now, more than killing the smug bastard who stole his love from him. “I will do this myself then.” He goes to walk from the tent, but his father’s hands grip his shoulders, preventing him from leaving.

“You will do no such thing.” his father says. “I am still your father and your liege lord. And whilst I can appreciate that you are grieving, we all are. We cannot act rashly now.”

Loras looks at his father stunned then. “You cannot mean to bend to Stannis father?!”

His father shakes his head. “I did not say that, and I would never do that. We are more likely to suffer under Stannis than anyone else. No, we must now consider our options. Renly is dead, but we still have a force of men, and Margaery is still a maiden, the time is coming where we might need to look either north or to King’s Landing.”

“Renly is dead, and already you are planning another marriage for Margaery? Do you have no shame?” Loras asks.

“This is war boy,” his father barks back. “There is no place for shame. We must do what is in the best interests of the family.”

Loras thinks on this for a moment, really thinks on it, and considers what might be done, and what could be done. Eventually he says. “We should go to King’s Landing father. That is what Renly wanted, if he died. We should go to King’s Landing and make sure Stannis never sits the throne.”

His father considers this and then says. “Yes, King’s Landing makes the most sense. Randyll, I want you to take some men and make sure the Florents cannot do anything without us knowing of it. Destroy those who would turn to Stannis, and make sure our supply lines are secure. Mathis, send word to Bitterbridge, make sure they know to open food lines to King’s Landing.”

Loras sees both men nod and then turns to his father to ask. “And what of me father? What role can I play?”

His father looks at him and says. “You are coming back to Bitterbridge with me. We must make sure that your sister and brother know what is happening. It is time we prepared for the alliance we must make.”

“So we are not going to attack Stannis now?” Loras asks, feeling disappointment grow within him.

“No lad, not yet. We have more things to do before we can strike at the heart of the matter. Come with me, and I promise you, that you shall have your revenge.” his father responds.

Loras nods and then says. “I’d like some time alone please father.” His father nods and walks out of the ten accompanied by his lords. Loras stands there for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, and then he cries, he truly cries. His love is gone, and his world has broken. But he will kill Stannis Baratheon, even if it is the last thing he ever does. He will kill the man.


	38. Jon XIII

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing **

**Jon Snow**

His dreams were keeping him awake at night, they were worrying to him. Thoughts of Sansa, and the things he’d like to do to her, thoughts that were unnatural and wrong. She was his sister, his little sister, not some whore that he could fantasize about, and yet the more he looked at her and saw how beautiful she was becoming, the more he found himself thinking about her. He did not know what was wrong with him, but there had to be something terribly wrong with him to think of his little sister in the way that he was thinking about her. It was not right, and yet despite everything he tried to do, she would not leave his head. Jon was worried that something was wrong with him, deeply, deeply wrong with him, and he did not know what to do. He did not speak about it to anyone, and instead, he tried to spend time learning in his role as master of laws, a job that the king had given him as a reward for good service and help provided. He was not sure he was ready for that job, and yet he would do what he could to make sure that it was done to the best of his abilities, he would not let the king down.

That was why he was in the council chamber now, sat with all the other members of the council, including the king, he was sat the right side of the king, a position usually reserved for those deemed favourites of the king, and it was an honour to be there. Ghost is sat between him and the king, and perks up when the king speaks. “My lords, thank you all for coming. It has been some time since last we met. Much has happened since then, and I would ask Lord Jon to give us a detailed account of the search for those who instigated the riots.”

Before Jon can speak the Queen Dowager speaks. “Must we listen to this boy? Can we not listen to the reports coming straight from Ser Jacelyn?”

Jon flushes then, and the king growls. “Jon is the master of laws mother, Ser Jacelyn reports directly to him, therefore it makes sense that we listen to what he has to say.”

The Queen Dowager does not say anything in response to that, and merely bows her head. The king looks at Jon then and nods. “Go on Jon.”

Looking at the notes before him, Jon clears his throat and then says. “Thank you Your Grace. As you all know Ser Jacelyn has spent much time and energy looking through the streets of King’s Landing and speaking to those who were within royal party as it made its way down to the docks and back when Princess Myrcella departed for Dorne. So far, it seems that only three people actually saw anything of note before the riot began.”

“And who are these three people?” the king asks.

Jon looks at the king, and notes a strange gleam in his eye, it is slightly unsettling but he pushes that thought from his mind and continues. “They are three knights, two of whom are within the retinue of the Queen Dowager, my king. Two of them are Kettleblacks and the third is a man known simple as Pate. They all spoke about the events that led up to the riot, as they made their way through the streets accompanying the Queen Dowager.”

The king stares intently at his mother then. “How interesting. Do go on Jon, what did they have to say?”

Jon looks at the king and feels slightly uneasy at the look of fierce glee that is growing there. Taking a deep breath he says. “Well Your Grace, it seems that there were faces within the throng, people dressed in golden clothes, that looked ragged and worn down, and they were speaking to other people, speaking loud enough for the knights to hear.”

“And what were they saying?” the king asks.

“They spoke of treason and of dragons coming back to life. They spoke of making sure that the things that needed to be done were done. When I questioned the three knights about it further they did not know what those words meant, but they were confident that those were the words said.” Jon says, noting the strange looks the Queen Dowager and the hand share.

The king looks troubled, but then that look disappears. “Very well, and what more have you learned?”

“Well, I have since taken a look into these people and find old records pertaining to people who dressed as these people do. Back in the age of King Aegon the Unlikely, there were groups called the Sons of the Dragon, who went around ensuring that the king’s will was enforced. They wore golden clothes, in rags, to symbolise their commitment to the king and his laws. They were fanatics and were quite fervent in their support of the king. They often caused riots within places that did not support the king.” Jon responds.

“And do you think these people are part of this group?” the king asks.

Jon hesitates for a moment, unsure of just what to say, or how to say it. He notes that Lord Varys is looking at him intently, and he wonders at that. “Yes,” he finally says. “I think it makes the most sense Your Grace. Their actions mirror those of the Sons, they would send old ladies into crowds where lords were riding and then begin a riot, and fade into the background. They did that especially with the Baratheons in light of Lord Lyonel’s treachery.”

“And do you think they are now continuing on with this?” the king asks.

“Yes. I think they are coming out of the shadows to do so now.” Jon responds. “I think they are taking advantage of the chaos within the realm, to make a point.”

“And have you find out where this group is based?” the king asks, his voice serious.

Jon sighs then. “Unfortunately I have not been able to find exactly where it is this group works from Your Grace. There are some things it appears that even the city watch cannot find out with a bit of bread and wine. For it seems this organisation moves around and never stays within one place.”

“Varys will help you, won’t you Varys?” the king states.

The eunuch titters and then says. “Yes, of course my king. I shall aid Lord Jon as much as I can.”

“Good, I do not want this foolishness going on for much longer. I want these fools found and killed. Enough of their hiding and running.” The king says. “You said that they were behind the riot when Myrcella left for Dorne, what about the other riot?”

“I think they were responsible for that as well Your Grace. They have been acting and planning for a long time that much is clear.” Jon responds.

Nodding, the king asks. “Have you found out anything as to where Tyrek might be?”

Jon feels a slight pang of jealousy then at the concern in the king’s voice, and wonders if the king would speak that way about him if he were to go missing. Shaking his head he says. “Unfortunately not Your Grace. It seems Ser Tyrek has disappeared without a trace. Though, I do believe that this organisation is behind his disappearance.”

“I quite agree.” The king responds. “I want you to work with Varys to make sure that this does not go unchecked. I want Tyrek found before the year is out, and I want to make sure that this organisation is found and butchered, there is to be no mercy.” Jon nods his acceptance, and then the king continues. “Now, what other news is there?”

Baelish speaks then, and Jon feels himself shiver a little in revulsion. “The Iron Bank has begun sending letters demanding to know when payment on the crown’s debts shall be made.”

“They do realise that we are fighting a war. And that should taxes be increased, more people will flock to our enemies than to us?” the king asks.

“They are aware of that Your Grace, and that is why they are wanting to know when the payments shall be made.” Baelish responds, his voice calm.

The king snorts. “I forget, the Braavosi do not understand how war works. They have become far too gluttonous on their profits and their banking, they have not fought a war for centuries. They are fools, if I go, then the debt will remain, they can demand all they want, until we have enough resources to make sufficient coin, nothing will happen.”

“Could the money coming in from the Riverlands, not be used to pay off part of the debt?” Jon asks.

The king shakes his head. “That money is being used to pay the soldiers who are fighting from the riverlands as well as those fighting for us from the crownlands. We must keep them paid otherwise they will begin to cause issues, and that is something I do not want to deal with. No, unless there is some magnificent change in fortune, we shall need to hold off paying those debts, for the time being.”

“A wise choice Your Grace,” Baelish says. “But I would not hold off for too long, the Braavosi are not known for their patience. Sooner or later they will start sending people demanding answers, and when that happens, nothing will be able to stop them.”

Jon sees the king’s shoulders tense then, his voice is barely controlled when he speaks. “And, that is precisely why you must speak to your contacts within Braavos, and get them to deal with the chief of the Iron Bank, and furthermore, I want those books looked at. You have men who can do that, do you not?”

Jon is not sure he likes where this is going, but he is a servant of the king and so he must agree. Baelish nods, a little too quickly for Jon’s liking. “Indeed, I do my king. I do believe that I can have them look into the chief of the Iron Bank himself, and see what they can find.”

“Good, now Varys what news do you have for me?” the king demands.

“Word has come from Jorah Mormont, it seems that Daenerys Targaryen is growing in strength, it appears she has amassed a small army around her, and they are heading toward Qarth or some such.” Varys says.

“You are taking information from a former slaver, and a traitor?” Jon asks surprised.

“Ser Jorah is desperate to come home my lord, I think this information might be his way of showing how much he wants to come home.” Varys says.

“Or he could be lying through his teeth. Ser Jorah once threw away everything for a beautiful woman, and this Daenerys is said to be quite beautiful. What is there to say that he is not merely lying to protect her?” Jon asks.

The eunuch looks quite put out by this, but the king voices his agreement. “Jon is right, I want more than just a slaver’s word Varys. Get me definitive information about this whore’s whereabouts and her actions, and then I shall see what Ser Jorah wants.”

“Of course Your Grace.” the eunuch says. “There is one more thing.”

“And what is that?” the king asks.

“Renly Baratheon is dead. Slain by someone fighting for his brother Stannis, or under mysterious circumstances, before he was due to fight his brother before the walls of Storm’s End. Stannis Baratheon now lays siege to Storm’s End.” the eunuch says.

A long moment of silence passes through the council then. “And what of the Tyrells?” Jon asks. “What are they doing?”

“They are returning to the Reach, to nurse their wounds and decide their next course of action.” Varys says.

Jon looks at the king and knows that the king is thinking the same thing as him, a thought that is confirmed when he hears the king whisper. “Margaery.”


	39. Cersei II

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Her son was fading from her, he was growing more and more distant by the day, and that worried her. Joffrey had always been strong willed, and he had always had a way of winning people to his side, and yet more and more he was not with her, he was not agreeing with her, and he was spending more and more time with Stark’s bastard. That worried Cersei, the bastard was an idiot that much she knew, he had gone to her son and told him about his father’s plans, he was an idiot, a treacherous one at that, but he seemed to be influencing her son. That was something she was not comfortable with, to her, it seemed as if the bastard was playing some sort of game, but what game it could be and how successful he would be, she did not know, mainly because the boy was an idiot, and he was Ned Stark’s son. The Starks, gods, they had always caused her trouble, first Brandon Stark and then Eddard Stark, there was far too much going on within her brain to be able to think straight about Brandon. No she had to concentrate it was important for all of them, that she stop this.

“Tell me Pycelle, how much longer do you think Robb Stark will remain within the Westerlands?” Cersei asks then.

Pycelle, an old man, and someone that Cersei has not trusted for a long time, says. “I think that soon enough he will need to either attack the Rock or return to the Riverlands. With the Ironborn in the north, he does not have much of a chance to begin preparing for anything other than a defensive campaign.”

“He is trying to lure my father into the Westerlands is he not?” she asks.

“Yes, it would appear so my Queen. And yet, Lord Tywin remains in Harrenhal, whilst the riverlands burns around him. The Tullys are not going to be able to do anything of note until such time as they have regained their lands, and I do not think they will be able to do that.” Pycelle says.

Intrigued by this, Cersei asks. “And what makes you say that?”

“The Riverlords have never been the most united of people my Queen. And now with the southern half occupied by Lord Tywin and his men, in the name of the crown, they are being cut off from potential trade links. There is very little that they can do with much of their strength either burned or fighting for the crown. Their commanders are dead, and I do not think there will be much left in them. Robb Stark has his options limited.” Pycelle responds.

“So then, they will either have to come out of their holes to fight, or they will have to submit then, is that what you are saying?” she asks.

“Yes my queen. And I think they will surrender, there is not much fight left within their bodies. There cannot be, not with winter coming as quickly as we might think it is. Sooner or later something will have to give.” Pycelle says.

He sounds so confident that Cersei cannot help but feel slightly suspicious. “And what makes you feel that that is the case? You have not fought a war before. How can you be so certain?”

Pycelle laughs softly then, and Cersei’s eyes narrow at the sound. “You forget my Queen, I helped plan the war of the ninepenny kings alongside King Jaehaerys. I helped plan the strategy that saw Lys and Tyrosh back down during the reign of King Aerys, and I have observed the lords of the Riverlands for a very long time. They are either at one another’s throats, or they soon will be.”

Cersei is not sure whether or not to believe the man, but she knows she has limited options so she merely nods. “Very well, let us say then, that what you say is true, how then do we make Stark bend the knee? If he is like his father, and everything I’ve heard of him makes him seem like he is, what makes him bend?”

The old man is silent for a long time then, and Cersei wonders if the man has fallen asleep on her, she would not put it past him. Eventually though he speaks. “We have his brother and his sister, and whilst things might be slightly sour between him and his brother, he will still want them both back. Now that the Ironborn are in the north, he cannot afford to be fighting a war on two fronts, especially not with how disorganised the northmen seem to be at present. He will need peace, and I think sooner rather than later he will realise that.”

“And if he does not?” Cersei asks, hoping she does not sound as worried as she sometimes feels.

Pycelle sighs then. “Well if he does not, then he will have to be met in battle. Only Lord Tywin can truly do that, and if they meet in battle then perhaps Lord Tywin will win, confidence and all that, and yet who knows truly what a boy will do. A boy with a crown on his head, it is a dangerous thing.”

For a moment, Cersei has the suspicion that the man is speaking about Joffrey and she feels like slapping him, but then she wonders at it. “And do you think such pressures might eventually get to him then?”

“Yes, he would not be a boy if they did not. He never expected to be a king, I doubt he even thought he would become a lord this soon. His father has burned many bridges that might have otherwise been open to his son, and now the son is floundering, wondering whether or not he can swim within an ocean of kraken.” Pycelle says.

“You sound almost sad at the thought. Why is that?” Cersei asks accusingly.

The maester holds his hands up in a gesture of peace, something that only inflames Cersei’s suspicions. “The boy is exactly that my Queen, he is a boy. And whilst he might be a traitor, he is still a young boy. I do not think he should die because he was fighting for something he wrongly believed was the right cause. But, I do think that if he does not come to his senses soon enough, he will die.”

“And what makes you so certain of that?” Cersei asks, her voice becoming deliberately biting.

The man takes his time to respond, as if he is considering his answer carefully, eventually he says. “Because I know your father my Queen. Lord Tywin will offer this boy one chance, and if the boy does not take it, then he will die. It is a shame, but that is how your father works.”

“And he is not wrong to act in such a manner, after all, he did have to deal with the Reynes and the Tarbecks as a young man, and Aerys after that. Harshness sometimes is the best policy with those who refuse to see the error of their ways.” Cersei says defensively.

A strange look crosses the man’s face then, and Cersei finds herself wondering not for the first time, just where Pycelle comes from. None know exactly where he has come from, for his last name disappeared a long time ago, she finds herself haunted by that thought. Before she can ask the question, Pycelle speaks. “There is something else I wished to discuss with you Your Grace. And I think you will be most interested to hear about it.”

Cersei straightens then, and says. “Well, do go on.”

A smile crosses the man’s face and Cersei is reminded of an image she saw as a child, a distinctly unflattering image if she remembers correctly. “I think I might well have found out exactly what it is Baelish is working towards my Queen.”

“And what is that?” Cersei asks.

“He wants to bring down the Starks, he has wanted this since he was a boy, and he fought that duel with Brandon Stark. And he wants to claim Lady Catelyn as well as Lady Sansa for his own. He is doing all he can to bring them down, but at the same time, has his men and women working within the Stark camp to try and make them amenable to him.” Pycelle says in a rush.

It always came back to Brandon and the Starks, why was it that she could never escape them? Such a thought had haunted her since that day long ago when she had met Brandon Stark and had her breath whisked away by him. But that was long ago, and she was not that girl anymore, had not been that girl for a long time. “So? What is the point of telling me this? The man is committing treason, but he is also doing us a favour. I think we should allow this to keep going.”

“Even if it endangers the Lady Sansa my Queen? She is the king’s betrothed, surely it would make more sense to work to prevent Baelish from setting his sights on the girl, and informing the king.” Pycelle says.

“No.” Cersei says immediately. “That girl is more of a threat here than if we give her to Baelish. Baelish will owe us, if we allow him to continue on this path. Let us see what sort of webs he gets himself dangled into. And once we have found that out, we may begin breaking him and his associates. Tell me, what else have you learned?”

“Baelish met with Jon Snow a couple of weeks ago, and in their meeting I think they discussed something similar to what I have just told you. It seems the man is determined to break down the barrier between Snow and himself, and make the boy his ally.” Pycelle says.

“Snow met with Baelish? Now that is most certainly treasonous in of itself. I want a written confession and I want men prepared to arrest Snow the moment this confession has been presented before me.” Cersei says, her voice growing with fervour.

Pycelle looks hesitant, and Cersei can feel her irritation with the man growing. “Are you sure that is a wise move my Queen? Snow is a favourite of the King’s, and working to bring him down, would not sit well with the King. Perhaps it is better to avoid this.”

“The King is a child, who does not always know what is and what is not good for him. I think the time is coming for us to make sure that the King is guided in the right direction. Snow must be brought to account. See it done Pycelle.” Cersei says.

The man bows his head. “I shall do so my Queen.”  Silence falls after that, though Cersei suspects that the man has more to say, eventually he says. “There is one more thing my Queen.” A pause and then he continues. “I have done some looking into that thing you asked me to look at, and I think I have found a location.”

Cersei straightens, and looks intently at Pycelle. “Where?”

“Deep within the bowels of the Red Keep, in a place that I had long thought a myth. The Room of Stone and Fire. A place where very few have ever been, and even fewer have come out of alive.” Pycelle responds.

Cersei snorts. “Of course it would be there, they never made anything easy now did they? Is it guarded?”

“As far as I can tell it is not. But then, they most likely thought it would never be found, therefore I think we might as well go on the belief that it is not, and if it is then seven save us.” Pycelle says.

“Will your men be able to get to it?” Cersei asks.

“Yes, they should be able to.” Pycelle responds.

“Good, I want it done before Stannis comes here.” Cersei says.


	40. Jon XIV

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

It still felt odd being master of laws and having any sort of responsibility, for so long he had been the bastard of Winterfell, left to look after only himself, and now since his father’s death he had taken charge of a household, and was now master of laws, and responsible for ensuring that the City Watch was maintained to a reasonable standard. He would be lying if he said that he did not feel as if he was going into the deep end before learning how to swim. There were times when he found himself gasping for breath, as another load of papers were unloaded on his desk, he had a desk now as well, something he had never had in Winterfell. Gods alone knew how he was going to get through all of this, but get through it he would, for he was not going to let the King down, he would make sure that everything was looked at and analysed, and if that meant sleepless nights piling onto one another then so be it. He would not falter in his duties. He would not be his father.

As it was, he was now meeting with Ser Jacelyn Bywater, and they were to begin questioning more people about some dispute or the other that had emerged within the streets. He nods his greeting to the man, he likes Ser Jacelyn, in this city of corruption and vipers, and he seems to be one of the few rare good people. Clearing his throat, Jon asks. “Remind me again Ser, what is the case we are going to hear?”

Ser Jacelyn grins at him. “We’re going to hear the case of Samuel Pate and the butcher my lord. It seems that they have worsened their offences against one another since I brought it to your attention.”

Jon sighs. “What have they done now?”

Bywater laughs. “What have they not done? They’ve gotten into fights, broken the distance restrictions set against both of them, and I believe Pate has burned down the butcher’s shop as well, with a group of his mates.”

Jon gapes at the man. “For the love of all that is holy, why?”

Bywater shrugs his shoulders and says. “Something to do with flour or something. I am not quite sure my lord.”

Jon groans then. “Well, I guess we had best go and find out then, hadn’t we?” Bywater nods, and they mount their horses and ride off, down Aegon’s Hill, accompanied by some thirty men, some of them gold cloaks the rest part of his own household guard. Since the riots, Jon has been paranoid that someone was going to come out and get him, and so he has travelled with protection. He does not like it, but he knows it is necessary. He does not want to end up like his father after all.

They rode largely in silence, and that gave Jon the chance to look around the streets, since the riots, things seemed to have settled down slightly, there were not as many people thronging the streets with murder on their hearts, it seemed food and supplies were getting into the crownlands and the capital much more easily now, a result of Stannis slaying Renly Baratheon no doubt. Jon still did not know how that had happened, no one did, but it did not bare thinking about, and so he kept his attention on the roads ahead, finally they come to a stop and Jon dismounts. He can see two figures standing there before him, both looking disgruntled, or rather one of them is, the other remains strangely calm. Jon walks towards them and nods. “Thank you for coming here to meet. Now I have heard some of what happened between you two, if you could simply tell me the full story, one at a time that would be most useful.”

The big fellow before him, with golden hair and dark green eyes, and a thick frame speaks then. “Thank you for coming me Lord. I am Esgred the Butcher. I was minding me own business, but then this charlatan came upon me and attacked me in me own home, and before I knew what was happening me butchery was burning before me very eyes. It was heart-breaking. I had done nothing to offend him.”

Jon looks at the man, and then turns to look at the man named Pate. “You are Pate?” he asks to make sure.

“I am.” the man responds, his voice sounding off, Jon does not know why, but its sounds strange to his ears.

“Is what this man said true?” Jon asks.

“If you must ask, then it is clear you believe it is.” the man responds his voice calm.

“Answer the question.” Ser Jacelyn barks.

The man does not even bother looking at Ser Jacelyn and instead continues to look at Jon, his gaze full and piercing, and slightly unnerving. “Well, is what this man say true?” Jon asks.

“As I said before, if you think it is true, then it clearly is true to you. There is no point in me arguing something that will not get me anywhere, Jon Snow.” the man responds.

Jon is surprised at the audacity of the man, addressing him by his given name, as it appears Jory is as well. “You will address Lord Jon by his title Pate, or you will suffer the consequences.”

The man smiles then, an odd expression on his face, and one that unnerves Jon slightly. “Ah, I did not know you were a Lord, Jon Snow. Forgive me for getting your title wrong.” the man bows then, mockingly.

“Answer the question. Did you do as Esgred says you did?” Jon asks, his patience thinning.

The man’s smile widens then. “Well of course I did, but then you would believe that would you not Jon Snow? You want to believe the best in people, but you are no different than your father, you would abuse the power you have been given for no other reason than you can.”

Jon bristles then his anger growing with every word that this man is speaking. “I would watch your tongue Pate,” he says fighting to keep his voice calm. “You are treading a fine line here. Now then, why don’t you tell me why you burned down Esgred’s butchery, and attacked him?”

“Because I could, and because it was necessary.” Pate responds, a strange look crossing his face now.

“What do you mean it was necessary? You have destroyed a man’s livelihood and for what?” Jon asks.

The man’s smile widens even more, if such a thing is possible and his words are odd when he responds. “It was necessary because things are needed from there, and there were things that would bring you here.”

“What things? What are you speaking of?” Jon asks, his patience wearing thin.

“There are objects your King desires, are there not? There are people he desires. I knew you would come, but I needed you to come sooner than you would have.” Pate replies.

Jon feels himself tense then, he looks at Ser Jacelyn out of the corner of his eye, and the man nods, moving slightly closer to Pate, his hand on his sword hilt. “And precisely is it you think the king is after?” he asks cautiously.

The man, Pate grins then. “Oh he is after many things, but I think what he is after the most is knowledge, and I know precisely how to give it to him.”

“And how would you do that?” Jon asks.

The man looks at Jon, winks and then as quickly as is possible, he has plunged a dagger into the butcher’s throat, as the man writhes around, Jon stares at the man in shock. Blood spatters onto the ground and onto him before he roars. “Seize that man.”

Pate laughs and throws his dagger down. “No need for that, I am done here. So do with me what you will.”

Jon watches as the men of the city watch put binds around the man’s wrists, and then tie him to one of their horses. Once that is done, Jon speaks. “Take him to the black cells, and make sure he does not escape.” With that he watches as the men ride back to the red keep, before turning back to Ser Jacelyn and Jory. “Clean this mess up Ser Jacelyn, and make sure that the man’s kin are informed.”

Jon watches as the two men nod, before he mounts his horse and not waiting for anyone, digs his spurs into his horse and rides as quickly as he can, his household guard following behind him. His thoughts are awhirl with the words that the man spoke. He does not know how the man could know of what the King is looking for, there was something deeply disturbing about that man, and he will need to question him when they are back and safe. His thoughts are interrupted by Jory as the man comes galloping toward him, panting slightly, his captain says. “There was something found on the butcher’s body my lord. A piece of paper.”

Jon stops his horse completely then, and takes the piece of paper from Jory’s outstretched hand, and he reads it. _Welcome Snow, find the crow within you and know that you are closing in on the truth, but not yet. Not yet, we are not done playing games with you. Soon enough you shall know the pain we know. The master._

He gives the piece of paper back to Jory and says. “Give that back to me when we are in the keep. And do not mention this to anyone, do you understand?”

“Yes my lord.” Jory says.

Jon nods and digs his spurs into his horse setting off back to the Red Keep, as they climb the hill he thinks on the piece of paper, and what the man, Pate, had said, there can be only one real explanation for it. It seems that the man might’ve been speaking some level of truth, perhaps he needs to speak to the man in private. He wonders though, why did the man kill the butcher, who was the butcher? Esgred is not a common name within King’s Landing as far as he knows, so many questions and very few answers. He arrives in the courtyard of the keep, and dismounts handing his horse to a servant, he waits for Jory a moment and then the moment the man has dismounted they walk back to his rooms. Once they are back in his rooms, he closes the door and gestures for Jory to sit, and then he begins speaking. “What more did you find on the man?”

Jory looks at him a moment and then responds softly. “Very little my lord, but enough to suggest that if he had been a butcher, he was not one now. His papers were not on him. The emblem of the butcher’s guild was missing on the one thing we found that was not that piece of paper.”

Jon groans then. “Who in the name of the seven hells is he then?”

“Could he be one of them my lord?” Jory asks. “We know that they are hiding in plain sight, perhaps one of them took over from the original butcher.”

“And what of the other man? Pate? Who could he be?” Jon asks.

“I do not know my lord. I do not think he is from here though, his expressions were too odd, and his name, that is a name from the Riverlands I think.” Jory responds.

“Could he have fled the riverlands? But then, the speed with which he moved suggests he has had training. Gods, what is this mess?” Jon asks to himself.

Before Jory can respond, there is a knock on the door, Ser Jacelyn Bywater enters his room and bows low. “My lord, there is something you should know.”

“What?” Jon asks.

Ser Jacelyn rises and then whispers. “They are coming.” And with that he falls down to the ground, dead.

 


	41. Tyrion V

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

King’s Landing was teeming with people, with every passing day, more and more people were arriving from the riverlands, and the border regions looking for somewhere to live and to sleep, somewhere that was away from the fighting. It was becoming difficult to find places for these people to stay, and Tyrion was worried that there would be another riot, if they could not find a way to quell the disturbances that were already appearing within the city. The threat of war was not a good one for a city that was already coming toward a difficult ending, the Sons of the Dragon continued to be a lurking menace within the shadows, and Stannis Baratheon was coming ever closer. There was far too much that needed to be done, and yet Tyrion felt helpless, he did not know what more could be done, there was far too much out of their control, it was a nagging worry. The King had requested a meeting with him, and as Tyrion looks at his nephew now, he wonders just what sort of things his nephew is thinking about, the boy has brought Jon Snow with him, and Tyrion wonders at that.

“Tell Tyrion what you told me Jon. Tell him about the butcher and the man.” The King says. Tyrion has heard some version of the story before, but he knows he cannot say so, not to the King’s favourite.

Jon Snow looks slightly discomfited but says. “The man, Pate, he was acting quite strange, he burned down the Butcher’s house for no reason and refused to say why he had done so. He kept saying that it was inevitable that I would find him guilty, and so he decided to kill the butcher.”

“What was the butcher’s name?” Tyrion asks curiously.

“Esgred. It is a strange name is it not, I did not think there were people with such names here.” Snow says.

Tyrion nods. “Indeed it is a strange name, for these parts anyway. I had a look through the old naming records and not one has anyone by the name of Esgred within King’s Landing. DO you know where this man was from?”

Tyrion expects Snow to shake his head and say no, in fact it would make him feel a lot more comfortable if he said no, but alas, Snow nods his head. “Yes, from what my man Ser Jory was hold me, Esgred was born in the Stormlands and came to King’s Landing when the rebellion ended.”

Tyrion looks at the King and sees how he looks intrigued by this. “So, it would appear then, that this man came here when King Robert did. No doubt he came because he was from the Stormlands, King Robert was known to be partial to men from his home Your Grace.”

The king looks at him intrigued then. “So you think that this partiality might have led to someone becoming jealous of him?”

“I think that such a thing is possible yes.” Tyrion replies. “There were many within King’s Landing who had grown wealthy under the auspices of the Targaryens, who did not take well to the preferential treatment shown to the Lords of the Stormlands or even the people of the Stormlands. Lord Steffon’s memory excluded.”

“What do you mean by that?” The King asks.

Tyrion considers his next few words carefully, knowing as he does that the King has increasingly become more attached to the Baratheon half of his heritage. “What I mean Your Grace, is that Lord Steffon was well regarded within the city. He was known as someone who did as the king bid, and very rarely had any complaints. He was popular with the people and he was someone who was seen as approachable.”

He can tell his nephew does not quite understand, but Snow does. “So he knew how to treat the King, and he knew when to not open his mouth?”

Tyrion nods, noting how astute the bastard has become. “Exactly. That is a skill, very few had when King Aerys was in his late reign, but it was one that Lord Steffon supposedly had in abundance, and the people loved him for it.”

“Because he knew how to kiss the mad king’s arse?” his nephew asks sounding sceptically.

“Because he knew his place Your Grace.” Tyrion says. “He knew he was a lord, a Lord Paramount yes, but he was still a lord, he was not the king and he did not act as one.”

“And the people of this city respected him because of that?” the King asks sounding perplexed.

“Yes, it was a change to how they were used to other Lord Paramounts acting. Specifically, Lord Tywin.” Tyrion says, feeling a bit of glee at getting to tarnish his father’s name.

“And how did he act?” the King asks curiously.

“He acted as if he was the King, and King Aerys despised him for it. If you want to know why the seeds of the rebellion were planted, it is because my father did all he could to keep the King from knowing his lords.” Tyrion responds.

“And has he ever said that he did this aloud?” the King asks suddenly curious.

Tyrion notes a strange look in the King’s eyes then and he feels a slight prickling of fear. “Once or twice yes, he would often speak of it when the mood struck him and he thought it was just him and Uncle Kevan.”

The King says nothing then, he merely sits and looks contemplative, and then he says. “Very well, that is all well and good, but I do not think Jon had finished speaking. Had you Jon?”

Snow nods and continues. “There was a lot of strange things about the man Pate, least of all the fact that he did not give a clear answer as to what he was doing and where he was from. One such thing was the fact that he kept saying that I knew nothing of what was hidden. I do not know what that means, but he seemed intent on mentioning it.”

Tyrion feels an odd lurching sensation in his stomach then, and he cannot quite explain why, but something about the man’s words send a tendril of fear through him. “What precisely did he say?” he asks then.

Snow looks at the King then, asking with his eyes if he can continue, and when the King merely nods, the man continues. “He said that there were things buried within the Red Keep that would cause all kinds of destruction if they fell into the wrong hands, and that there were things that I did not know that would cause my destruction, I was not sure what to make of it.”

Tyrion looks at Snow and then at the King, and then he asks. “Do you know where this man has come from?”

Snow seems to hesitate a moment before speaking. “The name he gave is one that is common in the Riverlands, but he does not look as if he is from the Riverlands, he seems more Dornish in complexion, though his accent is certainly not what I have been told Dornishmen sound like.”

“Jon is right, he seems to be mixing many things together. Whoever he is, he is dangerous.” the King says.

“Perhaps he might be from the Iron Bank then?” Tyrion muses aloud. “After all, the crown is in debt to them, and we are not likely to pay off any of the debts anytime soon.”

The King stiffens then. “You do not seriously think that they would send someone with a means to threatening the crown do you?”

“I think that is something they would most certainly consider doing Your Grace,” Tyrion replies noting the look of anger that flashes in his nephew’s eyes. “They want their money back, and they like all other moneylenders are not happy when their overtures are refused.”

“To be beholden to former slaves,” the King muses then his voice filled with disgust. “It does not do, we must break the hold they have over us, and we must break it soon. Regardless, Ser Jacelyn Bywater is dead, and the position of commander of the City Watch remains vacant, I must needs find someone to replace him.”

“Ser Osmund is someone who I think might fill the role well. He is a good soldier and one who knows how to command.” Tyrion says immediately, thinking of how he might win in this argument with his sister.

“Osmund Kettleblack?” The King repeats sounding slightly dismissive. “He is a sellsword is he not? A cutthroat, not someone you’d want commanding defence of the city.”

“He has more experience than almost any of the other candidates combined Your Grace. He knows just what needs to be done, and he knows where the bread is buttered. He will remain loyal unlike Slynt.” Tyrion says.

The King seems unconvinced then, and turns to Snow. “You are master of laws Jon, the choice is yours.”

Tyrion fixes his gaze onto Snow then, wondering why it is that the King continues to rely on the boy, when he has never truly demonstrated much skill. Eventually, after what seems like much hesitation the boy speaks. “I think that Ser Osmund could be a good choice, I know that he is a fighter, and with Stannis Baratheon coming ever closer we must needs make sure that we have fighters there ready to confront him. And with the Sons of the Dragon still posing an issue as well, there are things that must be sorted there as well. We need strength Your Grace, we cannot allow the City Watch to fall into disrepair.”

The King considers this a moment and then says. “Meet with Ser Osmund Jon, see what you make of him after speaking with him. And then let me know. Now if you do not mind, I have some family business with which to discuss with my Uncle. I shall meet you soon.”

Tyrion is surprised by this, he was not aware of any private meeting with the King, and yet he keeps his face neutral as he watches Snow stand, bow before the King before rising and walking out of the room. Once the door closes behind him, Tyrion asks. “How might I be of service Your Grace?”

“Who is the better commander?” the King asks suddenly.

“Between who Your Grace?” Tyrion asks cautiously.

“Between grandfather and Uncle Kevan. Who is the better commander?” The King asks once more.

Tyrion considers this question for a moment, and then says. “Lord Tywin is someone who fights till all his enemies are dead, regardless of if it costs him many men in the process. Ser Kevan fights to win, but to win in a manner that opens discussions and more forceful terms. Why, might I ask Your Grace?”

The King is silent for a long time, and then says. “Because I do not want grandfather coming here and trying to do to me as he did to King Aerys. He will not allow for there to be peace whilst there are still threats to his legacy, and I think we are coming toward the point where his age is beginning to show. He occupies the Southern Riverlands yes, but he does not win against Robb Stark. And when he is done and comes here, then what? There will be more riots, more and more riots.”

Tyrion thinks he knows what the King is getting at, but he does not voice it for fear of being wrong, instead he asks. “If I may Your Grace, why is that you do not want Ser Osmund as the next Commander of the City Watch?”

A look of blinding anger crosses the King’s face then, before it disappears. “Because that man is my mother’s creature, and my mother plans on having him arrest Jon for something he did on my orders. I will not allow my mother’s lover cause my friend’s downfall.” the King pauses then, takes a deep breath and then looking at Tyrion intently says. “I want you to keep an eye on my mother, and the moment she sends Kettleblack off to do something, have him and her arrested.”

Tyrion nods. “I will Your Grace.”

“Good.” the King replies before standing and leaving the room, Tyrion watches his nephew depart wondering how the house began to fall.


	42. Osmund I

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Osmund Kettleblack**

Osmund could not quite believe his luck, having grown up shearing sheep on a shithole in the Vale, he had gone to sell his sword in Essos gaining experience along the way, and now here he was in the capital of Westeros, as a lover to a Queen and the right hand sword of the hand of the king. It was mind boggling for him, and of course Petyr Baelish was there ensuring things ran smoothly, Osmund did not quite like how much he owed to the slimy little coin master, but he supposed that there were things that could not be avoided in life, his father did work for the man after all. Still if things went as he thought they might, the moment he no longer needed Baelish, he would have the man gutted and killed. Baelish was a risk that could not be allowed to live, in any form whatsoever, Osmund knew that, and as such he was having a hard time keeping his face straight as he listened to the worm speak.

“It is important that you remain in both the Queen Regent and her brother’s good graces, do you understand Osmund? One cannot suspect you for working with the other, they must think that you work solely for them and are loyal only to them. Otherwise everything we have planned will not work.” Baelish says.

Osmund feels tired, the Queen Regent has a voracious appetite, and as such he has not gotten as much sleep as perhaps he should have gotten. Still he finds it in him to respond. “Of course my lord, I know how to play this game, at least for what is expected of me. I shall not forget that, do not worry.”

Baelish nods. “Good, your brothers are playing themselves for fools trying to impress the King. That boy remains stuck to Jon Snow as if there is no tomorrow. They will not succeed in prying him away from the bastard, unless you play your role.”

“Of course my lord.” Osmund says, sighing internally, the man is so repetitive and his desire to have the Stark girl is so blindingly obvious it is worrying.

“What else is there? Have you found out where the other Stark girl might have gone?” Baelish asks.

“From what I have been able to find out, she disappeared the day her father was arrested, her dancing master was killed during the fighting, and his body was thrown into a ditch. From there she seems to have gone out of the city and travelled northward. My friends within the Riverlands report seeing her with some lithe man who looked foreign.” Osmund replies.

Baelish’s eyes narrow then. “How did this man look foreign?”

“He was darker of skin than most, and his accent seemed as if he was from Braavos.” Osmund replies.

“Braavos. The Iron Bank is clearly getting involved then.” Baelish says.

Surprised, Osmund asks. “Why would the Iron Bank want anything to do with the Starks? The Starks have never had any direct dealing with the Bank, we both know they have no loans out either.”

Baelish sighs then. “Because they want to have leverage Osmund. The Bank is a money institution, they might think about lending money to the Starks in return for advice and the return of the girl. Of course, I think they might well be looking at this the wrong way, that girl would not have remained with them for long.”

“You really think that a girl could get away from a representative of the Iron Bank?” Osmund asks incredulously.

“If the girl was anything like her sister, I would say not. But this girl is not like her sister, she is like her aunt, and in that case, I would think so. Did your friends have anything else to say?” Baelish responds.

Osmund thinks for a moment and then nods. “They did actually. They mentioned the growing number of people who seem to be disappearing in the southern Riverlands. Now whilst some attribute this to Lord Tywin, others believe that these people are going to the dragon movement.”

Baelish scoffs then. “Dragon movement, there is no dragon movement. The Riverlands gave up the dragons when the rebellion began, and anything else is just hearsay.”

Osmund feels himself tighten in anger then, Baelish’s confidence is galling sometimes, and infuriating in others. “Ah, but then how do you explain the disappearance of the Darrys?”

“Death. Gregor Clegane has been raiding the riverlands and purging it of any who might seek to fight for the Starks.” Baelish says dismissively.

“And the Goodbrooks?” Osmund asks.

“The Goodbrooks are fighting for the Tullys, you know this Osmund, stop wasting my time with pointless gossip.” Baelish responds.

“Of course, forgive me my lord.” Osmund replies bowing his head to hide the anger he feels.

“Now then, has Snow approached you about replacing Bywater as commander of the city watch?” Baelish asks.

“Yes, he has asked to meet with me tomorrow. He wants to know exactly what I think I might bring to the role.” Osmund replies.

“And you know what you are to say?” Baelish asks.

“Yes my lord, I am to mention that I have fought before, I have commanded men before. And I am a loyal soldier to His Grace, the King.” Osmund says.

“Good it is important that you present this front to Snow. He is far too trusting and as such must not be given a reason to think otherwise. Now, what else is there for us to discuss?” Baelish says.

Osmund thinks for a moment and then says. “Lord Tyrion is looking into Pate my lord. And I am worried that he might stumble across my involvement within the plot.”

Baelish snorts. “I doubt it, the imp is looking for a ghost, and I have put far too much effort into ensuring that there are no tracks left to us. You will be fine.”

“And what if he finds the thing? The object? What then?” Osmund asks, genuine fear in his voice.

A dark look crosses Baelish’s face then. “He will not find it for you shall not make yourself a target of his investigations, do you understand? You shall remain calm and do as I tell you.”

Osmund nods. “Yes my lord.”

“Good, you may leave now.” Baelish says dismissing him.

Osmund stands, bows deeply before rising and turning and leaving the room. As he walks down the steps, he finds his thoughts spinning. There is far too much going on here, perhaps he has done too much too soon, and perhaps Baelish knows about his plan, whatever it is, he does not feel as good and as sure of himself as he did before. Something is nagging at him, and it is beginning to bother him. There are far too many variables within this for it to be anything but a planned attempt, someone is clearly pulling the strings here, and he is not sure who.

His thoughts are interrupted when he sees the King standing there in the courtyard looking right at him. His heart in his mouth, Osmund bows low and says. “Your Grace.”

The King stares at him for a long moment, and for a brief moment, Osmund hopes that the King does not know him and merely sends him on, but then he speaks. “You are Ser Osmund are you not?”

Keeping his head low, Osmund replies. “I am Your Grace.”

“Good, rise and follow me.” the King says.

Osmund raises his head, and straightens his posture noting that Ser Barristan Selmy and Sandor Clegane are following the King, he walks just behind the King as is expected and waits in silence for the King to speak. “How are you finding King’s Landing, Ser Osmund?”

Slightly surprised by the question, Osmund is not quite sure how to respond, but eventually he says. “It is most certainly different to what I am used to Your Grace.”

“It is bigger than the fingers is it not?” The King asks.

Osmund finds himself wondering how the King knows he is from the Fingers, and then decides that of course the King would know where he was from. “It is Your Grace, much bigger. And more lively as well.”

“And how does it compare to the Free Cities?” The King asks. “You served in Essos for a time did you not?”

Once more Osmund finds himself wondering just how the King can know so much despite never having spoken to him before. “I did Your Grace.”

“What company?” The King asks.

“I served with the Second Sons for a time, and then with the Company of the Cat.” Osmund responds.

“Who else do we know who served with the Company of the Cat Ser Barristan?” the King calls out.

“Ser Vrywel my King.” the Lord Commander responds.

“Ah yes,” the King responds. “Did you meet Vrywel when you served?”

Osmund can feel the heat beginning to flow to his face, afraid of being caught out in a lie he merely says. “I did not no, I believe Ser Vrywel was after my time Your Grace.”

The King stops walking then, and Osmund stops behind him, when the King turns to look at him, there is some strange look in the King’s eyes then that make Osmund want to turn and run. “You know it is treason to lie to your King, don’t you Ser Osmund?” the King asks calmly.

“I do Your Grace.” Osmund replies slowly.

“Then tell me Ser, why do you insist on lying?” the King asks, a hint of anger showing in his eyes now.

“I…I do not understand Your Grace.” Osmund stutters.

“We both know you did not serve in the Company of the Cat Osmund, we both know you got your knighthood fighting for some whore in Essos. So tell me, why are you lying to me?” The King asks.

Osmund wants to lie, to say that he is not, and yet suddenly he finds himself saying. “Because, if I had not lied, then I would not be here. And your mother would never have welcomed me.”

He feels as if he has been slapped across the face when he hears the words coming out of his mouth, the King looks simply delighted. “So tell me what do you mean by that?”

Osmund wants to resist the urge to tell the truth, but for some reason the words come out. “Your mother would never have slept with me, if I was not a Knight of some repute. I had to lie to sleep with her.”

“And why pray tell, do you wish to sleep with my mother?” The King asks.

“Because I need to gather information from her to help Lord Baelish bring about some plan of his. And because it would cause trouble between her and Lord Tyrion. It was something that got me a lot of money.” Osmund hears himself saying.

The King is smiling now as if he has discovered some long lost secret. “And tell me Ser Osmund, are you working to arrest Jon Snow?”

“Yes Your Grace.” Osmund replies, feeling himself sink further and further into the abyss.

“And why pray tell, are you doing that?” The King asks.

Osmund wants to resist the urge to talk, and yet for some reason he continues. “Because the Queen believes that Jon Snow is trying to take you away from her, and because she thinks that you will look for the thing she is looking for.”

The King’s eyes darken then and Osmund feels as if he is drowning. “Very well, Sandor, see that this man is killed. I do not want him around anymore.”

“Wait Your Grace, please I can help you.” Osmund shouts then.

The King laughs then. “Oh, I think you’ve helped me enough. Sandor see this man dead.”

Osmund feels the cold glint of steel, and as he looks at the King, the eyes of the Stranger look back at him, he screams as his life is taken.


	43. Cersei III

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Osmund was dead, the news had come from one of her spies within Littlefinger’s household, killed by Sandor Clegane on her son’s orders. She was not sure what to make of that, but she guessed that her son was slowly beginning to work out just who he could and could not trust, and in a manner of speaking she was proud of him, however, there were times when she feared for herself and for him, the ability he had was slightly too powerful it seemed. It was growing and she was worried it would ruin all of her plans before she had the chance to fully share them with him. Her son had always been full of strength and anger, something her fool of a husband had never seen, but she had, she had seen it right from the moment he could walk and talk, but now, now he was drifting away from her, and she was afraid deeply afraid. And so she had had to ask her brother, the imp to come and speak with her so that they might figure something out. Looking at her brother now, she finds herself wondering why she allowed this to happen, the imp sits there smugly, as if there is nothing he cannot do, and she hates that.

“So sweet sister, do tell me why you have asked me to be here.” Tyrion says, sounding tired, the hour is late she knows, but perhaps she might get more information from him.

“You know Joffrey, you know what he is capable of, I think things are getting out of hand and something needs to be done to rein him in before something bad happens.” Cersei says, fighting to keep her voice calm.

Her brother looks at her with his mismatched eyes and smiles slightly. “I do not know what you mean. Joffrey is but a boy, a boy with a crown on his head yes, but he is still a boy. He has no real power.”

“Do not give me that nonsense.” Cersei snaps. “You know as well as I do that it was Joffrey who had Ser Osmund killed, and you know as well as I do, that Joffrey has been slowly removing power from our hands and placing it in the hands of that group of his.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” the imp asks. “After all he is the King, perhaps he should begin learning how to rule by making mistakes himself. Gods above know it would’ve helped his father had such a thing been done for him.”

“I do not trust that group.” Cersei says. “They were chosen by Robert, and the fact that barely any of them are Lannister allies now, is something that does not sit well with me. The Redwyne twins could well be plotting treason right under our noses, and we would never know it.”

Her brother laughs then, and Cersei feels anger grow within her. “You seriously think the Redwyne twins would dare plot any sort of treason? For one thing, I do not think they are smart enough to attempt such a thing. For another, Renly is dead, any chance they had at achieving success for him is gone. Now they can only hope that the King decides to give them Highgarden.”

“But he won’t. He is in love with that Tyrell girl, the whore who sold herself to Renly for a crown. He will never do anything that would hurt her, and he will suffer for it.” Cersei says.

Her brother looks at her intrigued then. “And how do you know that the King is in love with the Tyrell girl. He is but thirteen, what does he know of love? I am sure it is just a passing fancy, nothing more.”

“And if the Tyrells come here then, asking for an alliance? Joffrey will accept, of course he will, he will do anything to be with the Tyrell girl, and he will fall because of it. The Tyrells are snakes, they creep in slowly and surely but they will creep in.” Cersei says.

Her brother says nothing for a long time and then he says. “And you are afraid of being replaced, is that what this is Cersei? You are scared that the King might not need you anymore?”

“I am his mother, of course he will need me. Who else can he trust but his mother?” Cersei snaps.

Tyrion looks at her strangely then, and she wants to snap at him, to find out what it is that he is looking at, but she remains silent, waiting for him to break the silence, and when he does she is surprised by what he says. “I think you might be right. There is something different about the King. I do not know what it is, but he is not the same boy as I remember from Winterfell. Something has changed, and I am not sure what.”

Cersei feels something tighten within her, the words the wood’s witch spoke all those years ago, they come echoing to the forefront of her mind now, and she wonders what might happen if she tells her brother the truth. She cannot tell Tyrion that, and she knows she cannot explain it properly, so she remains silent.  And then she says. “I think it is because he has the crown now. He is trying to grow up as quickly as he can to become the King that this kingdom needs.”

Her brother considers this, then shaking his head he says. “No, there is something else. Something about him is different, there is more confidence but more uncertainty in him as well. And when he speaks, there is a feeling that there is someone else speaking as well. I do not know whether that is a good thing or not, but it is there.”

Cersei shifts around in her chair, feeling increasingly uncomfortable now, as her brother is coming dangerously close to realising what happened when Joffrey was born. Clearing her throat she says. “He is the King, who are we to question him?”

Her brother bursts into laughter then, and Cersei feels her face grow red. “Now that is something I never thought I’d hear you say sweet sister. You who constantly questioned everything that Robert ever did, and who to this day continues to try and keep the King under your own thumb.”

“It was different when it was Robert. Robert was a buffoon who deserved the death he got, Joffrey has the potential to be a great King, and I do not want to see that wasted because of some ridiculous decisions or suggestions from his friends.” Cersei snaps.

Her brother laughs once more, and Cersei finds herself growing increasingly irritated. “Ah sister, you are such a mess of contradictions I find it hard to believe that you can function properly. On the one hand you want Joffrey to be a good King and yet you do not want him to learn and develop. What sort of nonsense is this?”

“You do not understand, how could you understand? You are not a mother, you are not even a parent, and you are merely a man who is trying to do something that is far beyond your capabilities.” Cersei responds.

Her brother looks at her then and merely smiles. “Ah, so you are playing that card are you? I am surprised, I would’ve thought you would know better than now. I am not trying to do anything to harm you, I am merely trying to help.”

“Then help me for the love of the seven!” Cersei exclaims. “Stop trying to come in my way, I am trying to make sure my son does not make a mistake, help me, don’t hinder me.”

Her brother says nothing for a long time and then he says. “Very well, what would you want me to do?”

Cersei is surprised at her brother’s submission to her demand and she feels some suspicion begin to grow within her. “Well for one thing, I need to know everything you know about Jon Snow.”

Before her brother can respond though, there is a knock on the door, and her son enters, followed by Jon Snow and his direwolf, as well as two of the Kingsguard and fifty men of the city watch. “And what exactly do you want to know about Jon mother?” her son asks, anger in his voice.

Cersei stumbles over her words then. “I… nothing, nothing it is nothing Your Grace.”

Her son looks at her with such anger in his eyes then that she shrinks back into her chair. “It is clearly nothing, otherwise you would not be asking about him. Now tell me what you wanted to know about him and Jon can answer you.”

Cersei swallows nervously then, the words of the wood’s witch playing in her mind, her son has come for her then. “I… I do not know what it was that I wanted to know Your Grace.”

Her son snorts then. “Jon, read out the charges would you?”

Cersei feels something within her sink, as Jon Snow, the bastard unrolls a scroll and begins reading. “Cersei Lannister, you are hereby accused of conspiring against the King. You are accused of working with the traitor Osmund Kettleblack to cause harm to the King, as well as to the realm at large. You are accused of starting a war, and in ensuring that the realm knows no peace. You are hereby arrested until further notice.”

Cersei stares at the bastard and then says. “Lies, these are lies. Joffrey, please tell me you don’t believe these filthy lies?!”

Her son stares at her and snarls. “They are not lies, they are truths. Now will you go quietly or will I need men to restrain you?”

Cersei looks at her son aghast. “I…I…” she turns her attention to Snow then and snarls. “This is your work, you and your traitor family.”

“It is not Jon’s doing, this is your doing. Your crimes are coming to hurt you now. Ser Vrywel take my mother to the black cells, and kill her household.” The King says.

Cersei feels hands grab her then, and she struggles to resist but she fails. “Joffrey, please, sweetling please, I was only trying to help you!” Her son does not even look at her, and she begins sobbing as she is dragged from her chambers.


	44. Jon XV

****

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing **

**Jon Snow**

Ever since the Queen Regent had been thrown into a black cell things had been moving quickly, the King had ordered his mother’s entire household guard slaughtered, due to not wanting any potential revenge attacks, and then he had had her household servants killed as well. Jon was not sure whether such a thing had been truly necessary and it was something he was worried about, the King seemed changed since the truth about his mother’s actions had been revealed to them both, and Jon was not sure whether the King would ever recover from that. How could one recover from such a betrayal? Jon knew that he was still hurting from the letter that had come from Riverrun, clearly it had been delayed in coming, but there it was a letter writ in Robb’s hand which denounced him as a traitor and an oath breaker, and by gods had it hurt. Jon was not the oath breaker, Robb was, their father had committed treason and now Robb was as well, gods alone knew what nonsense was being put into his ears by those idiots within his council. The war was raging and they were being left with nothing.

Shaking his head, Jon tries to clear his thoughts so that he can better think on the task in front of him. Looking at the man before him, he has to conceal some rage, Ghost is by his side and is growling softly. “Samwell Pate. You have been a difficult man to get information on. It is almost as if you do not exist. As if you are no Samwell Pate at all. Is that true?”

The man before him is tied to the wall, his ankles clinking as he moves slightly, there is a soft smile on his face. “Ah, Lord Snow, you ask questions you already know the answer to. Do not think that things are beneath my notice. I know how you strain to justify this thing you do. Your brother has called you a traitor, and you wonder if you are or he is.”

“I am asking about you, not about me. Now tell me, is your real name Samwell Pate?” Jon asks.

The man laughs then, a soft sound, an aggravating sound. “Oh it does not matter where I am from, for you will judge me either way. Tell me Lord Snow, where do you think I am from?”

Jon grits his teeth in frustration and responds. “I think you could be from the Riverlands or you could be from Dorne, your accent suggests you are more likely to be from Dorne rather than from the Riverlands. But then, Pate is not a common surname within the Dornish lands, and indeed, it is not all that common within the Riverlands, and has not been since Pate the Butcher. So I think you are not from here.”

The man laughs then. “Oh very clever, a very clever thought process, the Riverlands might not be where I am from, but I most certainly know people from there. People who would be very interested in you.”

Jon finds himself wondering why, but quickly he shakes the thought from his mind and says. “Well, be that as it may, we are speaking about you, and not me. So tell me, where are you from?”

The man looks at him for a long moment, and Jon wonders if the man has heard what he asked, he thinks about repeating what he had asked, but then the man speaks. “I am from many places, where the crow flies I have come from there. Darkness treads within me, and light shines from me. I am everywhere and nowhere. Now tell me Lord Snow, what do you desire?”

Feeling his frustration growing, Jon snaps. “Enough of the riddles, answer my damn questions, or I shall have Ghost tear your throat out.” As if to highlight this, Ghost moves forward then, growling and baring his teeth.

The man laughs. “Such a temper, much like your uncle then. That should not be surprising, considering he did always have fire in his veins. Not like your father, who was so cold, his cock had frozen off.”

“Careful,” Jon growls. “You might be a prisoner, but that does not mean that you cannot be punished for such insolent behaviour.”

The man laughs once more. “Ah, I see. So you will not play this game then. Very well, I suppose I have no other choice but to answer your questions. I am from the east, but I know many people here.”

“And why did you come here?” Jon asks.

“Because there were things to be done. Things that I have been planning for some time, and it was not right to allow others to take advantage of all my planning.” the man responds.

“And what things might these be?” Jon asks.

Pate laughs. “Ah yes, you will not want to let me ask any questions now will you Lord Snow? Very well, these things include helping with a movement that is working to undermine your King. The Sons of the Dragon, I believe you have heard of them.”

“Why are you working for them?” Jon asks.

“Not for them Lord Snow. With them. They are working toward a similar goal as I am.” the man responds.

“And what is that goal?” Jon asks.

“The destruction of everything that is not from the new world as it were to you Westerosi. You do not know some of this that you dabble in. The world is coming to a conclusion and we must make sure that the right people are there to see it through.” the man responds.

“What end?” Jon asks.

“The darkness that never stops. The Long Night. It is coming, and now we must prepare for it.” Pate responds.

Jon looks at the man and then laughs. “A childish fantasy nothing more. There is no such thing as the Long Night.”

“Ah come now Lord Snow, I am disappointed in you, I would have thought that you of all people would think differently. But, I suppose not. Very well, if you will not believe that, then believe this. The dragons are coming back, and they will come back stronger and more powerful than ever before.” the man responds.

“And how exactly will they do that? Viserys Targaryen is dead, his sister is a mere girl, she will not get her horsefuckers to cross the waters that they so fear for anything.” Jon responds.

The man looks at him then, a smirk present on his face. “The girl is just one dragon, and her brother, I would not say he is dead, for there is little that can kill a true dragon, let alone a son of Aerys Targaryen, he who was blessed by the power of Valyria. And there are always more people hiding within the shadows.”

Jon feels himself tense then. “What are you on about?”

“Why, exactly what you wanted me to talk about. You asked me why I was here, and I have told you.” Pate responds.

“I do not believe you. Why did you attack the butcher? Why did you kill him? What else are you doing here?” Jon asks.

The man looks at him then, his eyes a darker shade than they were before, his voice is deeper as well. “I attacked that butcher because the man was a fool. He claimed to be something he was not, and so I had him killed, or rather I killed him. I do not tolerate foolishness when the matters of the state are to be done. He was in my way so I removed him.”

Curious Jon asks. “And what things was this man supposed to be doing for you?”

Pate looks at him and smiles. “He was to keep an eye on you, as well as on your sister. He failed, and so he was removed.”

“What?” Jon asks surprised. “Why was he to keep an eye on myself and Sansa?”

“Because you have a role to play in the events to come, and we wanted to make sure that we knew where you stood before hand. Of course the man failed to do his job properly, and so I killed him.” Pate responds.

“And the burning down of his house and the butcher shop? What was that about?” Jon asks.

“Oh that? That was merely something I did because I was bored. There was no other purpose behind it other than sheer boredom. But it was effective.” Pate replies, grinning.

Jon feels absolute disgust running through him. “I do not know why the King is keeping you alive, you should have died many times over by now.”

“Ah, but the King will not kill me yet, not until you find out whatever it is that the King wants to know. So ask me, and I shall see what answers I can give you.” the man responds.

Jon looks at him wondering why he is doing this, and then remembering that his King has asked it of him, he swallows nervously, and then asks. “Tell me, where are they hiding the maps toward the passageways? How are they causing so much trouble?”

“Who my lord Snow? You need to be more specific than that.” Pate responds.

Gritting his teeth, Jon replies. “The Sons of the Dragon. How are they doing this thing that they are doing without being found?”

“They have many allies within the land who wish to see their goals achieved. The Baratheons made many enemies when they came to the throne, and they have many more now that a boy sits where his father once did.  They grow more powerful with every passing day.” Pate replies.

“And do you know how they are staying fed and clothed?” Jon asks, wondering if perhaps he is pressing his luck slightly here.

The man looks at him for a long time, before he finally responds. “There are many who provide them with the things they need to survive. This has been going on for a long time. Nothing is more hilarious than knowing this began during the time when Robert Baratheon first sat the throne.”

“What do you mean first sat the throne?” Jon asks. “He was never removed.”

“That is what they want you to think Lord Snow. A King can be removed without be dethroned. If the throne does not recognise him, then he has been removed. Robert Baratheon bled the first time he sat the throne after fighting in the Greyjoy rebellion. He was removed briefly and then was restored. The throne has the power to judge who can and cannot sit the throne.” Pate responds.

Jon looks at the man sceptically, unsure of just what to make of the words he has just said. Deciding to put them to one side for now he says. “Very well, and do you have a name?”

The man leans forward then and whispers one single name that sends a shiver down Jon’s spine. “Baelish.”

Jon steps back then, and looks at the man before turning and walking out of the cell, not sure if anger or desperation has made him leave, still he walks out of the black cells ascending up the stairs before coming to the King’s personal chambers, nodding to the Kingsguard on the door who announce him, he enters and bows before the King, before raising his head noticing a pale look on the King’s face. Panic floats through him then. “What is it Your Grace? What is wrong?”

He sees the King swallow and then he speaks. “Word has come from the north. It appears that the Ironborn have taken Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin.”

That is a blow to Robb, and yet Jon does not know why the King looks so ashen faced. “And?” Jon asks.

The King takes a breath and responds. “Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell, he holds your brothers hostage.”


	45. Arya IV

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**Arya Stark**

They had long ago left King’s Landing, but still the fear of being hunted plagued her, Arya was not sure if this was something normal that she was feeling or if she had become paranoid because of the time spent travelling. They had left Lyman Darry and his companions far behind many moons ago, progressing slowly and gradually toward where she thought Riverrun was. She suspected that Syrio knew where Riverrun was but that he was trying to test her, to see if she knew herself where it was. And as such, she had a thousand questions floating through her mind, trying to see what might and might not be true. The words that she had heard fired at Syrio had worried her, and as such she was trying to find the courage to ask the questions she wanted answers to. But there was so much that she did not know, Nymeria whined next to her, sensing her distress and Arya put a hand on her head cooling her nerves slightly. Taking a breath she looks at Syrio, and when he looks at her she speaks.

“What did those men mean when they accused you of not being truthful?” Arya asks.

Syrio looks at her, seizing her up, and she knows he is debating whether or not to tell her the complete truth. “They were referring to things that were long in the past before I was the man you see before you now.”

Feeling her frustration grow, Arya asks. “What do you mean by that? Were you someone different before you became the first sword of Braavos?”

“Yes. I was many things before I was the first sword Arya. I did many things that were necessary, and I did many things that I am not proud of, but they were necessary. And as such that is what they were referring to.” Syrio replies.

“But how could the men with Lyman know these things about you? None of them would have left Westeros before, or even the Riverlands. How could they know anything of what you had done? Unless you told them?” Arya probes.

Syrio laughs then. “You are an inquisitive person Arya, and that is good, but there are somethings that even you should not know.”

Her frustration growing, Arya looks at the man and asks. “What do you mean by that? They seemed quite angry about it, whatever it was. I think I deserve to know.”

The man laughs once more, and Arya feels her anger grow even more. “Ah, but you do not know the full story, and for you to understand what it was that I was doing before I became first sword, you need that full story. And I know you Arya Stark, you do not want the full story.”

His presumptuousness angers her. “I do want the full story, I believe I deserve to know what had those men so very angry.”

“Very well, but do not say that I did not warn you.” Syrio replies taking a deep breath. “Lord Lyman spoke of going to fight for King Aegon, now I am sure you and he both thought he meant Aegon Targaryen son of Rhaegar Targaryen, but he did not. For as you know, that Aegon died during the sack of King’s Landing.”

“So then, why does he think he is fighting for someone that is not that person?” Arya asks confused.

Syrio looks at her as if he is regretting speaking, and Arya feels her desire to know grow tenfold. “Because he and his father before him were made to believe that that was the case. Lord Varys has done many things, and he made them believe that their prince’s heir had been saved. Of course, there was not a chance that the prince could be saved with the sack of King’s Landing, but hope does funny things to men. It can make them believe things that normally they would never consider believing.”

“So who is this Aegon?” Arya asks.

“A fake.” Syrio whispers, his voice no louder than a whisper. “He is not a tanner’s son, but he is of royal blood, from many generations ago. He is the true King of Westeros.”

“How can he be the true King of Westeros if he is not a Targaryen?” Arya asks.

“There was another line that sprung from the loins of King Aegon the Unworthy, they were illegitimate but once legitimated they became the true line. The Blackfyres.” Syrio replies.

Arya stares at the man then dumbfounded. “What? That’s not true, the Blackfyres were liars who said the things they did to justify their treason.”

Syrio laughs then. “Of course they did, think about it Arya. History is written by the winners, and the red dragons won, so they dictated what was seen as the true history. What is really the true history died with those who believed the truth. Those who knew what the red dragons did not want to accept.”

“And what is that?” Arya asks, curiosity and fear mingling together.

“That before she died, Queen Naerys confided in someone, a close friend that her son Daeron was not her husband’s but rather her other brother’s the dragon knight’s. In her death throes she admitted the truth, and it went on. Many died because the Unworthy was a fool, but his sons were in reverse order.” Syrio replies his voice hardening.

“So, do they know that you worked for the Blackfyres?” Arya asks.

Syrio laughs. “I do not work for them anymore child, I did once. But no, that is not why they were so aggressive, they believe I am withholding my support for the man they believe to be Aegon Targaryen.”

“But what difference could your support bring?” Arya asks.

“My brother controls Lys, he has done so for a long time, and as such, if I wanted to I could get him to bring Lys and Myr into the war for the King. But I will not do that.” Syrio replies.

“Why not?” Arya asks.

“Because my people have shed enough blood for dragons. I did not come to Westeros to bring more war and suffering here. I believe that Aegon is the rightful King, but it is not for me to ensure he sits the throne.” Syrio replies.

“Why not?” Arya asks. “If you are a supporter of the Blackfyres then surely it is your duty to make sure that they sit the throne. Surely you must do everything you can to ensure that their path is clear. To not do so is an abdication of duty.”

Syrio smiles then. “You sound a lot like your grandsire when you talk like that Arya.”

Arya stares at her companion then surprised. “You knew my grandfather?” she asks.

“I did, I knew Lord Hoster many years ago. When we were both young and he was earning his stripes. A good man.” Syrio replies.

“How could you know him, if you are from Essos?” Arya asks.

Syrio looks at her a moment and then grins. “I have had many faces during my life Arya, never think for an instant that this is the only face I have worn. Now, enough of this talk. Tell me, what will you do once we reach Riverrun?”

Arya bites her lip then, unsure of what she would do, she has not really thought that far ahead, being more concerned with surviving from day to day. It comes to her now that her mother might not even be in Riverrun when she gets there, Robb certainly won’t. “I… I do not know.” she says honestly.

Syrio tuts then. “That is not good enough Arya. You must know what you will be doing when you arrive there. As you have told it, your uncle has never met you, and if your mother is there, she might at first be doubtful of who you are, for you do not look as you did when you departed from Winterfell. We are roaming through lands controlled by the enemy of your family, and as such must be careful. Now think.”

Arya thinks hard then, trying to think over what she might do when she gets to Riverrun. Eventually she looks at Nymeria and says aloud. “Nymeria is a giveaway as to who I am. My mother will know Nymeria anywhere, even if she does not know me at first.” The thought of her mother not recognising her is a painful one, a very painful one.

“Good, that is much better. Now, tell me Arya, what do you know of what is going on within the Riverlands?” Syrio asks.

Arya thinks through what Syrio has told her of the events occurring within her mother’s home, as well as what she herself has heard, and she replies. “Tywin Lannister sits in Harrenhal, doing nothing whilst his brother and Ser Gregor Clegane, secure the Lannister’s control over the southern Riverlands. Battles have been fought between Ser Edmure’s forces and those fighting for Tywin Lannister, with Lannister and his allies emerging triumphant in most of these confrontations.”

“And where is your brother?” Syrio asks.

Arya thinks for a moment, wanting to ask which one, but knowing that for all intents and purposes Jon is not her brother now, and that pains her. “He is in the Westerlands, raiding and burning as he goes.”

“And why is he doing this?” Syrio asks.

Arya wants to snap that he already knows why, but she answers all the same. “Because he wants to draw Tywin Lannister out of Harrenhal and toward him, so that he might fight him on terrain more favourable to him.”

“Do you think that this is working?” Syrio asks.

“No.” Arya responds simply.

There is a moment of silence, and before Syrio can reply, the sound of voices and hooves reach them, they hide behind a group of trees, and watch as five men in Lannister colours stop their horses and dismount. “They should be here, they were spotted not far off.” the apparent leader of the group says.

Arya looks at the group before them, her heart pounding wondering why those men are here, and who they are looking for. She looks down and notes Nymeria at her side, her teeth bared. Looking at Syrio she whispers. “Are they looking for us?”

The man nods, and points at the figures that are now advancing toward the trees, one of their group speaking aloud. “There are prints in the ground here. They were here.”

Before she knows what is happening, Syrio has moved from the trees and stands before the men. “Well gentlemen, how might I be of service?” he asks his tone pleasant.

The leader moves forward then and snarls. “You are to come with us, as is the boy with you.”

“On whose order?” Syrio asks his voice calm.

“The King’s.” the man replies insolently.

“Do you have a piece of paper to prove that?” Syrio asks.

“We need no piece of paper for the likes of you. Now come with us or will we need to drag you there?” the man asks.

Syrio holds his hands up then. “We shall come peacefully.” He beckons Arya forward, and so she and Nymeria come forward then. And as the men come to take them, Arya blinks and before she knows it two of the men are lying on the ground dead, a third is having his throat ripped out by Nymeria, and the final two are standing there looking at Syrio with awe in their eyes. “You have the horses?” she hears Syrio ask the two men.

“Yes my lord.” the men reply.

“Good, bring them here, we ride for Riverrun.” Syrio replies.

The men bow and turn to get the horses, and when Syrio turns to look at her, she notes that his eyes are a different colour than what they were originally, they seem almost completely black. It scares her.


	46. Theon I

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Theon Greyjoy**

He was a prince and he had Winterfell, the two things he had always wanted since he was a child and had been snatched from Pyke because of his father’s foolishness, and now he did not feel content, he felt restless. Theon remembered fighting alongside Robb at the Whispering Wood, and at the Battle of the Camps, he remembers the nervousness they had felt before the fighting had begun, and he remembered the pride he had felt when he had sworn his oath of fealty to Robb. He remembers it all and yet here he is, sitting in Lord Stark’s solar, drinking Lord Stark’s wine and he does not feel right. It was not right what he had done, but he knew it was too late to change, he had come too far, he had come far too far now. He should have sent that letter to Robb when he was on Pyke or tried to escape, but he had not, and now he had to live with his decision and the hate he felt for himself. It was his burden, and his alone. Which was why as he looked at Maester Luwin, he felt anger and sorrow, the man thought he could still be saved.

“You do not have to go through with this Theon, you cannot hold Winterfell, not for long. You have only twenty men, and the rest of the people here will not fight for you.” Luwin says.

“They will obey me so long as I have a knife to Bran’s throat. They would not dare risk the life of one of their precious Starks.” Theon responds.

“The longer you keep Bran and Rickon prisoner within their own home, the more support the resistance to your rule will grow. You cannot win, not with the north as riled as it is now.” Luwin responds.

“Pah, my uncle keeps the frog eaters busy, and the southern northern lords have no love for the Starks. My sister holds Deepwood Motte and will have reinforcements soon enough from the Islands, there will be nothing that they can do.” Theon says.

“And what if they cannot come and offer support to you? I know you have not heard back from your sister that must hurt Theon. It cannot be good knowing that your own family are not responding to your letters.” Luwin replies.

Though Luwin had not spoken in harshness, Theon feels the pain of his words all the same. He takes a deep gulp of wine to hide his nervousness. “It matters not, I took Winterfell, I can hold it. The north is far too divided now without Robb here, they do not know what to do without a Stark there to whip them into shape. It is quite amusing truth be told.”

Luwin is silent, and Theon thinks that he has finally managed to keep the man silent. He thinks on the man’s words, brooding on them, not wanting to admit just how true to home they sound. His father bears no love for him, would see him dismissed and Asha put in his place as heir that angers him, it really does. He does not know just what might come of all of this, but he has to try, he will not go to his grave wondering if he could’ve done things differently. He looks at the man, and then hears his next few words and they strike him hard. “Ser Rodrik is coming with men from Torrhen’s Square, as well as the men he took there in the first instance, the Umbers are marshalling more men. You know all of this Theon, you know you cannot win. So then why do you persist in remaining here?”

Theon swallows, hiding his nervousness, he does not know truly why he remains here, despite knowing that his time is coming closer. An image of Jon Snow comes, unbidden into his head and he has his answer. “I will not run away, I will not be like Jon. Unable and unwilling to face my decisions. I took Winterfell, I shall hold it or die trying.”

“And you will die because of that. You are not Jon Theon, you can still save yourself. Go to the Wall and take the black, nothing will happen to you then. A man is absolved of his sins when he takes the black.” Luwin says.

“Sins?” Theon snorts. “I have committed no sins, I have merely done what one does in war, when there is an opportunity. I will not take myself off for some punishment, when I have done nothing wrong.”

“And what of your oath to King Robb?” Luwin asks. “Was that meaningless?”

Theon bites back a sharp retort. “No, but I am a prince of Pyke, and I will not flee from here. I will die before I give up what I have won.”

Luwin sighs then. “Then you shall falter and die. I will not be there to see this happen.”

His patience wearing thin, Theon stares at the man and asks him. “Tell me Luwin, are maesters not supposed to be sworn to the castle, not the house?”

“Yes.” Luwin responds.

“Then tell me what advice is this that you are giving me?” Theon snaps.

“I am giving you this advice because I know you Theon Greyjoy. I saw you grow up, I taught you your sums and letters. This, whatever this is, it is not you.” Luwin replies.

“You do not know who I am or what I am. Now get out of my sight before I have your head removed from your shoulders.” Theon snaps.

The maester bows and says. “As you wish.”

Theon watches the man walk out of the room, his chains clinking as he moves, once the man has gone, he turns to the figure in the dark corner of the room and says. “What do you think Reek?”

He does not know why he is asking the opinion of a slave, but he finds that there is something reassuring about the slave, despite his maddening smell. The man hobbles forward then and says through broken teeth. “I would not listen to the maester my prince. He is a Stark man, and will say whatever he thinks will get them safe. I would do as you are doing.”

“And what of the Stark boys?” Theon asks curiously.

“I’d kill them. You can try and rule in their name, but it won’t work. These northmen are not complete idiots, sooner or later they will try to remove you.” Reek replies.

“And if I kill them, the northmen will want me dead.” Theon replies.

“Not if you have an army to support you.” the man responds.

“And where might I get an army from?” Theon asks bemused.

He looks at Reek and sees his eyes glinting. “I know people who would love for the Starks to fall my prince, they will assist you.”

Theon looks at him and then says softly. “How long would you need?”

“A week no more.” the man responds.

“Then go, and get me this army.” Theon says, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.


	47. Davos I

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Storm’s End**

**Lord Davos Seaworth**

He was a lord, he had been named one following the siege of Storm’s End and Renly Baratheon’s death that was something he had not expected, it was a shock to him and he knew that it had angered many of the lords who were now following Stannis. Davos felt he would be lying if he said that he was not nervous, by the seven he was very nervous, he did not know what he had done to deserve being given a lordship, but he knew that there was something not right about it. He was beginning to feel as if King Stannis was trying to keep his loyalty through buying him off, and he was not sure if he was okay with that. He would follow Stannis to the seven hells and back, but he was not sure if he was okay with being treated as if his loyalty was as fickle as some of the other lords that were around the King now.  All of this was running around his mind now, but he tried to quieten it as he looked at his King. Stannis looked different, his face had dark lines across it, and his eyes appeared sunken, he did not look well. Davos did not speak first, waiting for the King to break the silence.

Eventually, the King breaks the silence. “Tell me Ser Davos, what do you make of the plan to send Lord Cafferen with men to attack Storm’s End?”

Davos thinks carefully to himself then wondering if this is some sort of test or not. “I think that it is a smart move Your Grace. King’s Landing is struggling for defences, and with the city having recently dealt with a riot, I do think that they will be struggling to maintain the support of the people there. A raid would definitely scare them and make those within the city consider changing their allegiance.”

He sees the King grit his teeth then. “They should have declared for me from the beginning. Joffrey is not the rightful King, nor is his brother. They are bastards born of incest, and as such I am the rightful King. That the people continue to live and abide by that boy’s rules is an insult.”

Davos sighs internally, knowing the pattern of this conversation reasonably well. “Of course Your Grace. And what will you do when you take King’s Landing?”

“I will remove the heads of the products of incest that stain my brother’s legacy, and I shall take the heads of the traitors who sit and advise the boy and his foolishness. As for Jon Snow and the Stark girl I shall take them and use them for the north.” The King says.

That surprises Davos then. “Your Grace?”

“What? You think that I would let the boy and his sister go unused?” Stannis snorts. “Come now my lord, they have their uses, they both have claims to Winterfell, and as such I am sure that they will be wanting to return home when I am done.”

“Are you sure that is wise Your Grace? Would it not be better to negotiate with Robb Stark? He is Lord Eddard’s oldest trueborn son and is the Lord of Winterfell.” Davos says.

“He is a traitor and he shall suffer for his treason when all is said and done. The other two are too young to be of any use to me, but the bastard can be used. He is a bastard and will be malleable to my suggestions, if he is not I shall have him killed and install his sister as Lady of Winterfell.” the King responds bluntly.

Davos is completely taken aback by the vehemence he hears in the King’s voice and replies. “Is that wise Your Grace? There has never been a ruling Lady of Winterfell as far as we know, and the northmen would never follow a southerner. Keeping the bastard alive might be the best option if you do not want to use the boys.”

The King considers this, fire in his eyes, and Davos reminds himself that there is dragon blood in his King, as well as stag blood. Eventually something seeps out of the King and he sags down onto the chair he sits on. “You are right of course. Sometimes I wonder… No it is not important. The Tyrells and their bannermen have been quiet as of late, almost too quiet. Lord Florent assures me that they will not make a move now, not until they know where they might find the most useful tools for bargaining.”

“That is good Your Grace. At least that means that the threat of an army attacking from the rear has been reduced. Though if you might excuse me for asking, can the Florents be trusted? They did side with Lord Renly first of all.” Davos says hesitatingly.

The King glowers at him then, and Davos curses himself for reminding the King of this. “I know why you ask, and I have asked myself this question many times since that day. I do not know, I intend to keep them close by. Florent’s heir has been sent with Lord Cafferen with luck he shall die in the fighting there. As for my wife’s father, I think he shall remain loyal, for he will fall if I fall and I do not think he wants that.”

“As you say Your Grace.” Davos responds, he hesitates a moment and then asks. “Your Grace, when we leave for battle, will the Lady Melisandre come with us?”

He sees a look of irritation cross the King’s face, and though he regrets asking the question, he knows it needs to be asked. “No.” the King replies. “She will remain here until such time as the city has been taken. I will not see her fall into enemy hands. And besides, I do not want the men saying I won the throne because of her.”

Davos nods relieved, before he can speak however, the King speaks once more. “When this is all over Ser Davos, you and I shall be speaking about one thing.”

“What is that Your Grace?” Davos asks nervously.

“What happened the night my parents died. I know you were there, and I would have the truth from you. But only when I sit the throne, not before.” the King says.

“Of course Your Grace.” Davos replies, his stomach churning at the memories.


	48. Jon XVI

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Winterfell was under siege, it was taken, gone, Theon Greyjoy, the smug arsehole was sitting in Winterfell, was sitting where his father had once sat and ruled. The thought was enough to make Jon grit his teeth in anger and want to shout and curse, but doing that would change nothing, Greyjoy would still be in Winterfell, lording it over those who had helped raised him. Jon had wanted to go north almost immediately, he had wanted to take men and go charging north to destroy Greyjoy, he did not care if the northern lords respected him or not, the man was in his home threatening his brothers, he wanted the man dead. And yet, Sansa had asked him not to go, not to leave her alone within King’s Landing, and so despite his better will, he had not gone. The King had said nothing on the matter, but Jon suspected that the King was grateful he had not gone, and for that, Jon felt a little better about it all, but there was still a deeply rooted anger within him every time he thought about it, and so he tried not to think overly much on the issue. Shaking his head, to clear his thoughts, Jon looks around the council chamber, and notes that the King has been staring at him intently, raising a questioning eyebrow, Jon wonders what the King wants, but he merely shakes his head, and Jon nods in acceptance, who is he to question the King.

“We all know what is coming soon,” the King says his voice clear. “My traitor of an uncle Stannis comes with an army to take my city and my throne from me. I will not allow him to, he does not deserve the throne, the traitor that he is. I would know what right he has for claiming this throne?”

Varys speaks then. “He claims that Your Grace, and Your Graces siblings are not King Robert’s trueborn children, and that you are in fact the product of an affair between Queen Cersei and her brother Ser Jaime.”

There is a moment of silence and then Jon snorts. “Surely he cannot be serious? What nonsense is the man speaking?” He looks around the room and then looks at the master of whispers. “What proof does the man offer for such ridiculous claims?”

The eunuch smiles then. “None my lord. He has offered not a slither of proof, and yet he expects men to rally to his banner.”

“Such an obvious bid for the throne is quite disappointing in him then.” Jon retorts. “He has no subtlety.”

“And yet the Lords of the Stormlands have rallied to him, in great numbers. Why is that?” the King asks, anger colouring his voice.

Jon thinks carefully about his response, knowing as he does, just how volatile the King has become since the revelations about his mother. “They are traitors Your Grace, they sided with Renly over you, and they cannot be trusted. And yet we know that there are some who remain inside their own castles and holdfasts, refusing to come forth for Stannis.”

“They do not march for me either.” The King responds sounding increasingly aggravating. “Traitors the lot of them. Now tell me Jon, how goes the preparation of the city?”

Jon thinks through the reports he had received from the city watch and then speaks. “It is going well my King. The city is slowly becoming more and more ready for a siege, and the men of the city watch have been training night and day for the coming fighting. There are guards on every gate and wall of the city, and as such none leave or enter without my knowledge.”

“Good, and what of the morale within the city?” the King asks. “What of the words of the people?”

“The people are resolute in their loyalty to you Your Grace. Those who dared start the riots against you have either disappeared completely or been found and dealt with. The people know of Stannis Baratheon’s burning of the sept on Dragonstone and they do not approve of it. In fact the fear of him doing something similar within King’s Landing as heightened their loyalty to you.” Jon responds.

The Kings snorts. “How convenient, that they would become loyal to their rightful King when the statues they worship are threatened but not before. I believe a tour of the city is in order, to make sure that there are none who might think to threaten my person during the fighting.”

Jon tenses then, unsure of whether or not to voice the issue he has with that, eventually he decides to let it lie, instead he watches as the King speaks to Lord Tyrion. “Tell me uncle, how goes the process of gathering witnesses against my mother?”

Jon keeps his mouth shut then, he had not really known what to think of the crimes brought before the Queen mother, had been uncertain over whether or not he believed them. Furthermore, he had been surprised that she had thought him a threat that had really surprised him and still made him laugh sometimes. The hand of the King takes a moment to respond and then he says. “It goes well Your Grace, soon enough I shall have enough witnesses to put her on trial.”

“Good the sooner we can get that done the better. It will give the people something to cheer about at least. Especially now that the rose road has been opened again. Tell me, where are the Tyrells and Lord Tywin?” the King asks.

There is a moment of silence and then Lord Tyrion speaks. “So far there has been no word as to where they are, but that is not surprising. Most likely Stannis has cut off any sort of supply of information to both of our sides, and as such hopes to keep us blind to the other’s plans and movements.”

Jon sees a look of worry cross the King’s face then and he suspects that the King is thinking of Lady Margaery, before he can say anything though, the King has risen and so they all rise with him. “Very well this meeting is done for now. Jon walk with me.” As the King walks out of the chamber, Jon hastens to his side, Ghost alongside him, Ser Barristan and Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard walking behind them. They walk in silence for a moment and then the King speaks. “Tell me Jon, do you think I am doing the right thing?”

Jon is not sure of what the King speaks and therefore he asks. “Your Grace?”

The King laughs softly then. “Forgive me, I am not being clear am I? Do you think I am making the right decision in holding a trial for my mother?”

Jon is uncertain of how to respond, he knows what he thinks, and he thinks he knows what the King wants to hear. “She did commit treason Your Grace, by going against you, or by doing what she did behind your back.”

“You are not answering my question Jon.” the King replies, his tone light, though Jon suspects that there is some anger hidden there. “Do you think I am right to hold a trial for her?”

“I…” Jon starts, unsure of how to respond. “I think you are well within your rights to do so Your Grace. You have deemed that she committed treason against you, and therefore that does justify her arrest, but a trial, I do not know. It is difficult to judge.”

“Because she is my mother, is that why?” the King asks.

“Yes, and because she is a member of the royal family. It would send a bad message to those who are questioning your authority Your Grace. Putting her on trial suggests that the royal family can be questioned, and there are those who would not hesitate to do that to you.” Jon responds.

“She tried to have you killed.” the King exclaims.

Jon fights to keep himself calm. “I know Your Grace, but by doing this, you would be opening yourself to all kinds of things. I do not think she should be put on trial.”

The King looks at him curiously then. “And what of her death? She will try this again if I let her go, and I will not keep her in the cells indefinitely, I need to decide what to do with her.”

“Send her to the Silent Sisters then Your Grace, somewhere away from here, and away from her power, you have already dealt with her household.” Jon points out.

The King shakes his head. “That is not good enough, she will merely do something from her cells wherever she is. She must be faced with the end, or she will keep haunting me.”

The conversation pauses briefly as they enter the King’s own rooms, and then once they have sat down, the King looks at him once more and says. “My mother will do a lot of things to try and make sure that I am under her influence alone. She does not understand that I am growing up and must make my own decisions. And until she realises that, she is a threat to me.”

Jon is not sure whether the King is speaking to him or himself now, and so he remains silent, and then the King turns to him and says. “Now tell me Jon, why is it you did not go to Winterfell?”

Jon looks at the King surprised. “I did not go, because I did not think I could change anything. I have no army, I have nothing to provide them with in the north.”

“You are friends with the King, you could have asked and I would simply have given you the resources needed. Yes, I know that we are facing a fight with Stannis, but your home is under attack, I understand that feeling all too well. So tell me the real reason you did not go north?” the King responds.

Jon swallows nervously then, debating just how far to go with his response, eventually he says. “Sansa asked me not to go.”

A look of comprehension dawns on the King’s face, and as it does so, Jon half expects the King to become enraged, Jon knows he would be, but instead the King merely asks. “Tell me Jon, are you close to your sister?”

“Sansa?” Jon asks surprised. “I would not say so no, we were never close growing up. She took more after her mother in that regard, but she is my sister, and I would not leave her here alone, not if she asked me not to.”

The King nods then, something like understanding in his expression. “Very well, keep her close Jon, family is important. Especially younger brothers and sisters. I would want to keep Tommen and Myrcella safe if I could.” the King pauses then, as if getting lost in some of his own thoughts, before he eventually picks himself up and says. “Now, there is something I want you to do before Stannis comes here to King’s Landing. I want you to kill Pate.”

“Your Grace?” Jon asks surprised. “I do not understand.”

“The man is a prisoner who committed a crime, I want him killed.” the King says simply.

Jon nods then, not truly understanding but not wanting to question the King. “It shall be done Your Grace.”

“Very good, you may go now Jon. And remember, be careful when you speak around the Redwyne twins, we do not know whom they are loyal to.” the King responds.

Jon nods and responds. “Of course Your Grace.” He stands, bows before the King and then turns and leaves, as he walks out of the King’s rooms he thinks about their conversation, the King seems to be slipping into a panic, he is not sure what of the many things might be causing this but there are many reasons for it, and so he sighs to himself, wondering how he might help his King. He stops then, as he thinks about it, only to see someone hurrying towards him, a man he recognises from the black cells. “What is it?” he asks the man as he comes before him.

The man takes a minute to get his breath back, panting heavily, and then he says. “The prisoner has escaped.”

“Which one?” Jon asks thinking of the Queen Regent.

“Samwell Pate my lord.” the man replies, and Jon feels his stomach sink.


	49. Jory II

****

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jory Cassel**

Things had been moving very quickly within King’s Landing, his lord had risen very quickly in the King’s confidence, and that was the one thing Jory was happy about. Jon Snow, had always been the smarter of the two brothers, between him and Lord Robb, it had been Jon who had figured out the way the world worked first, and that was a good thing. Of course, with Winterfell under siege and occupation of Ironborn, Jory knew that his lord wished to return to Winterfell quickly to drive Theon Greyjoy from there, and the Ironborn filth that was plaguing the north. That Robb had trusted Greyjoy enough to send him away, showed that the boy was still exactly that, Greyjoys could not be trusted, and Jory was looking forward to the day when he could bring Ironborn to their deaths. Until then he had to content himself with the search for another troubling person, Samwell Pate. Lord Jon looked quite worried and rightfully so, Samwell Pate was a dangerous man, a very dangerous man, and the fact that he had escaped was undoubtedly going to be causing some sort of issue for Lord Jon soon enough.

“He could not have gone far.” Lord Jon says then, looking all the world like his grandfather Lord Rickard had done, in his armour, his direwolf at his side. “I want the men to search every corner of the city for him, but be discrete about it. We do not want the people knowing this.” Jory sees Ser Vrywel, the commander of the City Watch nod before he mounts his horse and spurs it on into the city below. Jory then sees that his lord is looking at him. “Jory you will come with me, bring the household guard. We must make sure that nothing is lost.”

“Of course my lord.” Jory replies, he mounts his own horse, feeling the weight of the armour pressing in on him, he knows that his lord thinks the armour might be an unnecessary tool for any other reason than the fact that they do not know just what might happen with Samwell Pate on the loose. He looks at his lord and when Lord Jon nods, they spur their mounts onward down Aegon’s hill and toward the city.

They ride down the hill in silence, and Jory knows that Lord Jon is thinking, frantically, wanting to know just where the man might have gone and how he might’ve escaped, for he surely has escaped. None would dare risk the wrath of the King by freeing the prisoner. Jory wonders, not for the first time if the man is connected somehow to the Sons of the Dragon, that group that hides within the shadows, and does nothing but cause trouble. As they come to the foot of the hill, Lord Jon looks at him and says. “We must look to where the Butcher’s shop was Jory, I do not want him to harm any innocent people.”

Jory has his doubts about that, but he nods all the same. “As you say my lord.” Jon nods his assent, then in response to Jory’s questioning gaze, and Jory barks out commands. “Form up in a protective line around Lord Jon. Make sure none get through the line. Let us go.” Digging his spurs into his horse he moves forward, watching as the line moves forward as well, he remains by Lord Jon’s side, determined to protect him through whatever else they might find. He risks a quick glance at Lord Jon and finds that the young man looks worried, dreadfully so, Jory feels some sympathy for the Lord, but still they have a job to do.

Fifty men had come with them from Aegon’s High Hill, fifty men from the household guard, and now they ride through the streets of King’s Landing in silence, the people there stop to look at them, before hurriedly going back to their own work, clearly whatever the King had done has worked. They ride through the streets before coming to the Butcher’s shop, or rather what remains of it. Jory calls a halt to the march, and dismounts watching as his men do the same. Lord Jon is the last one to dismount, and then they walk toward the ruins. Lord Jon stops for a moment, his expression one of puzzlement. “Something does not feel right, the ground here has been walked on before.”

“People could have come here to see the signs of the damage that was done.” Jory points out.

“I doubt it, from the reports Varys has given, people have been avoiding this place, almost as if they fear that it is cursed. No someone has been here recently. Very recently.” Lord Jon replies.

“Do you think it could be him my lord?” Jory asks intrigued.

Lord Jon looks troubled then. “I do not know, if he has been here, then we shall never find him. Dammit, how did he escape?”

Jory knows that his lord is only asking the question to himself, but still he answers all the same. “He broke out of his cell and killed the guards. It seems he has been planning this for some time my lord.”

“The question is why. Why would he allow himself to be taken, if his entire plan was to break out again regardless?” Lord Jon asks.

“Perhaps he wanted to get a bearing of the Red Keep and the Black Cells?” Jory suggests. “Perhaps he was planning something that required being captured first and foremost.”

A troubled look crosses Lord Jon’s face then. “Like what? What could be so serious that he needed to be captured and thrown into the black cells to escape shortly afterwards? I do not know, I am beginning to think that whatever he told me before was a lie.”

“The Queen is in the black cells is she not my lord?” Jory asks. “Perhaps he wanted to see her?”

“She was put there after him.” Lord Jon says before a strange look crosses his face. Jory hears his lord curse to himself before he says. “I must get back to the Red Keep immediately, I want you to continue looking Jory, do not stop until you have either found him or found some trace of him. Do you understand?”

Jory nods. “Yes my lord.” He watches as Lord Jon hurries back to his horse, taking five men of the guard with him before digging his spurs in and galloping back toward the Red Keep. Jory stands there for a moment, watching Lord Jon’s horse fade into the distance, before he shakes his head and clears his thoughts. Turning to his men who are looking at him expectantly he says. “Right, we have a job to do. Let us stick together, we ride through the streets looking for signs of the man. You all know what he looks like by now.”

Alyn his right hand man speaks then. “What of Lord Jon, is it truly safe to leave him alone with those five men?”

Jory knows that Alyn had harboured some doubts about serving Lord Jon, but has since become almost fanatically loyal to the man. “He will be fine, he has his wolf with him. We must find something that will help him. Let us mount up and look.” With that Jory mounts his horse and moves to the front of the group, he takes a breath looking this way and that, before finally deciding to go straight ahead, digging his spurs into his horse he moves forward. They ride through the streets of King’s Landing in silence, Jory does not dare voice any sort of complaint about the stench or people who are there, knowing just a small thing could set the people off, and if they were to find out the reason for them being there, well things would only become worse. So they ride in silence, through the streets, which wind and turn at odd angles, meant to throw people off a course, or trail, but still they remain there, stubbornly riding through.

This continues for some time until he hears one of the men call out. “We’ve found something Ser.” Jory stops his horse, and turns it to face the men.

“What have you found?” he calls out.

“I think it is a body.” one of the men replies.

Jory moves his horse closer to the men and looks at the body they are pointing to. “That’s a child.” he says shocked. He moves his horse as close as he dares before dismounting and walking toward the body, as he gets a good look at it he stops dead, the child looks a lot like how Lord Jon had looked as a child. Dark brown hair and grey eyes that stare unseeingly into the sky above. Jory looks at his men who have seen the body, and then looks around. “Move the body, move it now.” he barks. Jory watches as some of his men dismount and walk toward the body, he sees them pick it up gingerly before they look to him for guidance. “Put it in one of the empty houses here.” He points to his right hand side, and the men nod and do as instructed, when they come back he says. “We continue riding, we must go through this street now.” He gets back onto his horse and feeling a bit shaken he spurs his horse onwards, they must find this man before more bodies appear.

It seems that the old gods are playing cruelly today for soon enough as they come to the end of the street, they find another body, this time a girl with reddish hair and blue eyes that stare right at Jory, though she is dead. Lady Sansa, or someone like her. It unnerves him, it really does, he orders her body picked up and thrown into another house, these houses are empty and he does not know why, though he suspects he might well find out. His men are shaken by this but still they keep riding, they continue through the streets that follow the one they have come from, and thankfully there are no more bodies, but Jory swears he can hear people talking, and yet he can see no one, not on the streets nor on the houses they pass, it is almost as if they are riding through a deserted island. His men are growing unnerved by the silence within the streets, Jory can feel it coming off of them in waves, and yet he does not know how to improve their mood, how to make them feel any less tension than he himself feels. It is a cruel thing he feels, to have to do this now, when things had been going so well.

He almost expects the third body when he sees it, a wolf’s head sewn onto the body of a boy, a horror, and something that makes him red with rage. He dismounts from his horse then and roars. “Show yourself! Whoever you are, show yourself! Enough of these games!”

There is almost complete silence and then a figure steps out of one of the houses, draped in black, a hood over their face. “You are not who I had expected would come. But no matter, you shall die here.”

“And who are you?” Jory asks. “That you would use such images?”

The man laughs. “I am many things, but you would not know me now. But your master does, and he shall mourn your death.”

Jory looks at the man and snorts. “I have more men than you do. Even if you were the Sword of the Morning you could not win against such odds.”

The man merely smiles. “There are many of you, but there are more of us.” And Jory watches as more men and even women walk out of the houses that had before seemed empty and deserted. “We will have our justice.” the man says, as he walks towards Jory his sword raised.

Jory sees the men coming before he has even drawn his sword, he fights one of them off, and then another, and then he is fighting the hooded figure, but gods there is far too much skill in the man. He swings and swings, but he does not know if he can survive the onslaught, he thinks that perhaps he can, but then his armour is dented, his sword is taken and he falls to his knees. His men are dead, not all but most. The figure leans into him and whispers. “Your master shall fall. It has been foretold.” And then he disappears.


	50. Cersei IV

**5th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Cersei could hear the words of the witch as clear as day, it was almost as if she was still there, hearing her fortune being told, hearing the screams of her friend as she pushed her into the well, it had taken her a long time to realise, but she finally had, her whole life since that moment had been dictated by the words she had heard from the witch. She regretted none of it, she had had to do what she had to survive, and now, well now she was not sure if it had been worth it or not, but she knew that her son would not see her dead, no son would ever execute their own mother. It was not right, maybe she should have spoken to her son about what she was doing, perhaps that would have spared her the horror of being thrown into a black cell, but she had only done what she thought was right. Joffrey had not been to see her and that hurt, neither had Tommen, Myrcella was somewhere, whether she was in Dorne or not she did not know, but she was safe that much she knew. The darkness was her constant companion, and now that the old man was here, she wanted to know everything, but she contented herself to asking the most pressing questions.

“What has been discussed about my fate?” she asks.

Pycelle looks older than he had done the last time she had seen him, if that is at all possible, he does not look well at all. The man is silent a moment and then he says. “The King wants a trial to be held. He wants the nobles of the court to bear witness as your crimes are laid out against you.”

The man’s words are like a hammer blow to her head. “I have committed no crimes! I was merely trying to do what I thought best for the realm.”

Pycelle looks at her with something akin to pity, and she feels her anger grow. “He believes you have committed treason, by going after Jon Snow, he believes you were attacking him, and as such he believes that you have committed treason.”

“Tell me you have told him what putting me on trial shall do to his standing. That if the court thinks that members of the royal family can be put on trial, then so can the King.” Cersei asks.

“The council has given its opinions on this matter to the King, he has listened but he has not yet come to a decision.” Pycelle responds.

“What do you think he will decide to do?” She asks, hating how nervous she sounds.

The man clears his throat nervously, and then says. “I am not sure Your Grace. I think he will try and do what he thinks is right. Jon Snow has argued against putting you on trial, arguing as you have. The King has listened to him on some matters.”

“Why is it that the bastard of Winterfell has so much influence over my son? It is like Robert and that idiot Eddard Stark. I do not like it Pycelle, why does it remain the case?” Cersei queries.

She cannot see the old man clearly, but she thinks that he is debating how to respond. “I think it is because the King sees Jon Snow as an older brother, and is doing what he can to try and learn and grow. He wants to impress the boy I think.”

The thought of her son, HER SON, trying to impress a bastard makes her gag. “That, that is disgraceful, I thought I had taught my son better than that. He is the King, he should not have to impress anyone.” She pauses for a moment thinking through this. “Tell me, what has happened to my household?”

“Dead. The King had every one of them killed after your arrest.” Pycelle responds.

The words of the witch come to her then, and she shudders involuntarily, as she sees that once more the woman has been proved right. “And why did he do that?”

“Because he did not want to risk someone betraying him like you did. Those were the King’s words. He has become withdrawn and reluctant to listen to too many people. The council are the only ones he listens to, and even then I am not sure that he truly hears what we say.” Pycelle says.

“Does he listen to Jon Snow?” she asks worriedly.

“From what I have seen, yes he does.” Pycelle replies evenly.

She curses under her breath then, before looking back at Pycelle. “You must find a way to remove the bastard from my son’s influence. Use any method necessary, but for the love of the seven separate them.”

Pycelle sighs then. “I fear that might be much more difficult than we thought Your Grace.”

“What do you mean?” she asks sharply.

“Since Ser Tyrek’s disappearance, the King has grown ever more closer to Jon Snow, and I think has begun viewing him as his right hand. Should Lord Tywin not come to King’s Landing soon, I think Jon Snow might be named Hand of the King.” Pycelle replies.

The thought of a bastard doing the job that her father should be doing makes Cersei grow ever angrier. “Joffrey would not dream of doing something so preposterous. Naming the bastard as master of laws is one thing, but naming him hand? That is frankly absurd, he would need to remove Tyrion first, and I do not think my nephew wants to do that.”

Cersei sees Pycelle shift slightly. “I do not know about that. Lord Tyrion has appeared deeply distracted as of late, and has not been as good at his tasks as he once was. The King has grown displeased with your brother.”

Cersei bites her lip then, thinking of the words of the witch, and she says. “Then work to make him fall. Do not allow him to be removed, he must be replaced, but not removed. Not by Joffrey’s hands, do you understand me?”

“Yes Your Grace.” Pycelle replies sounding slightly confused.

Silence falls between the two of them then, Cersei squints through the light from the torch Pycelle carries, and sees with a shock at just how much the old man has aged, he looks more like a skeleton than a person, death will surely be coming for him. She thinks through what the man has said and then asks. “Have you managed to discover anything else about the thing we discussed last time?”

She thinks for a moment that the old man will shake his head, but instead he nods. “I have Your Grace. I think I now know how to get it out without alerting anyone to its disappearance.”

Cersei looks at the man her interest sparked. “And how would you go about doing that?”

“I would need five men who could slip in and out without being noticed, but they would need to be strong. The object is big and it is heavy, we do not want to wake up the other things that dwell within it.” Pycelle replies.

Cersei thinks on this for a moment and then asks. “What has become of the Kettleblack brothers?”

“They are hiding within the streets of King’s Landing, under my pay, they could be used, but someone else would need to show them the way. I am too old to make the journey.” Pycelle replies.

Cersei looks at the man, once more taking in his skeletal frame and the way his eyes seem to have sunk into his face and nods. “Very well then, choose whoever you think is worthwhile and trustworthy and make sure that they do the task properly, this thing could ensure that I get out of here, I do not want it messed up.”

Pycelle nods his head, and then asks. “Is there anything else Your Grace?”

Cersei thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No, nothing else. Now go and make sure that you do not make a mess of this.” Pycelle bows low and then rises and walks out leaving Cersei to the darkness once more.  As the darkness engulfs her once more, Cersei finds herself desperate for a glass of wine, anything to numb the pain that she thinks is coming to engulf her at any moment, since her mother died, and pain has been a constant companion. Her father was aloof and indifferent to her, even though she was the one most like him. She does not know what might’ve changed had she been born a boy, she hopes to the seven that her son will forgive her, she was only trying to help, she did not want to do anything to harm him, she merely wanted to help him.

“I only wanted to help.” she finds herself saying to the empty cell, she nearly jumps into her skin at the laugh that follows that.

“Oh, sweetling, you always hurt the ones you wanted to help. We all do, it is a distinct family problem.” the voice replies, Cersei thinks that she has heard it before, but she is not sure where.

“Who is there?” Cersei calls out into the darkness. “Show yourself.”

Somehow a light appears, though the figure who appears before her is not carrying a candle. “Do you not recognise me sweetling?” the figure asks her voice familiar. “I do not know whether I should be offended or not.”

“Stop speaking in riddles.” Cersei snaps impatiently. “What do you want?”

“I have come to speak with you sweetling. You have come here because of many things. Your father always wanted you to be Queen, but he never took the time to really consider what would happen when you were Queen. He never bothered telling you what was expected of a Queen, for he never understood it himself. That has always been Tywin’s greatest flaw. He never bothered to learn how others thought, he was always convinced that his way was the right way, and so he fell because of that.” the figure before her responds.

“My father is a great man, who ruled the Seven Kingdoms whilst the mad king whored and drank himself to oblivion. He was what kept the dragons on the throne during Aerys reign, and reversed the disaster that had been Aegon the Unlikely’s reign.” Cersei snarls angrily.

The figure before her laughs. “Is that what he told you? My, my, I never thought I would see the day. Tywin never was a boastful person when he was younger, but I suppose that changed as he grew older, and he became more like his uncle than his father. A shame, for he was such a bright person once.”

Cersei looks at the figure before her, feeling her anger flow through her, determined not to snarl at this person, for she is intrigued by what they are saying. “You know my father?” she asks.

“I knew your father, once many years ago. And I knew you once as well, though you were small when I last saw you. I am not surprised you do not remember me.” the figure replies.

“Who are you?” Cersei demands. “If you keep saying that, I think I am owed that much.”

The figure sighs sadly. “So much like your father. Always demanding that the world give you what you think you are owed. That is why you sit in this cell. I told your father once that you would not make a good Queen, and I think I was right. What Queen does something against her own son? Against her own husband?”

“Queen Rhaella plotted with Prince Rhaegar against the mad king.” Cersei retorts.

The figure laughs. “You never met the Queen did you? Of course not, that was not why you were brought to court. I saw you, you know that first time you were presented at court, and I was very proud. But, Rhaella never plotted against Aerys, she could never do that to her own brother. Not even when he became a monster.”

“So why are you here?” Cersei asks once more.

“I have come to tell you one thing.” the figure replies.

“And what is that?” Cersei asks.

“Give up, give up and accept your fate.” the figure replies. Before Cersei can reply, the light has gone and so has the figure.


	51. Jon XVII

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

Jon had thought that by going back to the Red Keep he would be avoiding a possible catastrophe, for when he had seen the footprints near the Butcher’s House he had grown worried, worried that Pate might well have done that to throw them off his trail, and that he would actually be in the Red Keep still. He had hurried back to the Red Keep, only to find that the King was safe, that Prince Tommen was safe and finally that Sansa was safe, he had been deeply relieved, but then had come the news from Alyn, Jory and his men had been attacked in one of the streets. He had rushed out to see whether they were okay or not, half his men were dead now, and the other half were nearing death, there were other bodies around as well, faceless and nameless men and women whom he did not know. It was frustrating, and worrying. Jory was going to survive, just about, and Jon cursed himself for leaving Jory in charge, he should’ve been there, he should’ve faced whatever threat it was that presented itself before his men.

The King had asked for a meeting and so Jon found himself in the King’s rooms, Ser Barristan stood behind the King alongside Sandor Clegane, whilst outside stood Ser Balon Swann and Ser Theodore Wells- a Northman who had joined the Kingsguard for the first time in its history-. As Jon looks at the King he sees lines of tiredness across his face, given the lateness of the hour that does not surprise him, if he is right in his estimation it has been some time since the King last slept.  Surprisingly though, the King does not sound tired when he speaks. “So tell me, how are your men doing?”

It takes Jon a moment to process the question, for he too is feeling quite tired, uncertain of just who and what to trust right now. His words are guarded when he says. “Those who survived are well, they are injured but they should live. Jory is coming through this as best as he can. I think he will live as well.”

The King nods his acceptance at this. “That is good very good. I am sorry once more about what happened to your men Jon, it was most unfortunate.”

“It was not of your doing Your Grace, there was a trap that was set, and we fell for it.” Jon replies.

“Still, you were ordered to look for Pate on my order. Regardless, there is no point thinking about could have been could not have been. You are safe and your men who are alive will stay that way that is good. So tell me, what we have learned from this?” the King says.

A moment’s silence and then Jon replies. “Well, the men and women we found lying in the streets were men and women who have been trained for fighting. They are not from here, it seems they are from Essos, the Far East as it were, where they fight and train women as well as men. What they were doing there I do not know, though ships had come in from as far as Volantis a couple of days ago, I have Ser Vrywel questioning the dock inspectors now as we speak.”

The King seems to consider this for a moment before he speaks. “And who was the hooded figure that Ser Jory saw? Do we know?”

Jon shakes his head. “Unfortunately not Your Grace. It seems the man did not lower his hood at all, and I have spoken to all of my men who are well enough to talk and none of them saw anything from him. He merely moved as if he was a member of death, itself. I do not know what else to tell you about him.”

The King looks worried then. “And whom do you think this man was?”

Jon thinks about it for a mere moment before replying. “It had to be Pate, there is none else who could move with such skill and precision and get away with it. But I do not know he remained unchecked or even how he has not been found. Something about this does not seem right to me Your Grace.”

“I think so as well, there is far too much going on here beneath the surface for us to be clear about anything that is happening. Those men and women, why were they there, do you know? Did any of them survive?” The King asks.

“One did, for about an hour, she did not say much, but what she did say was troubling.” Jon says.

“And what did she say?” the King asks.

“She said that they were working for a man who knew more about King’s Landing than anyone but a Targaryen could know. That they were working for someone who had longed fooled many at court with his words and his praises.” Jon says.

“Varys.” The King says immediately.

“I had thought as much at first Your Grace, but then I had doubts.” Jon responds.

The King looks slightly put out by that. “Yes that is true, this was not Varys’ style, and he works with children not with men and women. No, whoever this is knows King’s Landing well, very well in fact, but the question is who? Most of the people here came with my mother when she became Queen and have been here since my father was King. That is nowhere near long enough to know every part of King’s Landing.”

Jon thinks on this for a moment, and as he reaches a conclusion, he becomes slightly uncertain of whether or not the King will want to hear what he has to say. “I think I might have a suspect but I am not sure.”

“Who?” the King asks looking at him intrigued.

“Pycelle.” Jon says. “He has been here for nearly fifty years, and in that time as Grand Maester he would have had to travel King’s Landing extensively, it is possible he knows these people.” Jon says.

The King seems to consider this proposal for a time, not responding with the anger and the dismissal that Jon had been fearing. When the King replies his voice is even. “It is possible, Pycelle has been here a long time. Though why he would employ such mean is beyond me.”

Jon thinks for a moment, and though he hates how it sounds he says it anyway. “Could it be that he used these people to get rid of me? After all, we know that your mother wants me gone Your Grace. Is it possible that Pycelle was working for her?”

“It is certainly possible, we know that Pycelle has been visiting my mother, but he has been doing that on my orders. Pycelle is a worm Jon, he works for whoever he thinks is the strongest at any given moment, and right now that is me. I do not think that this attack was planned by him. I would know if it was, but my grandfather is another matter. Lord Tywin does not react well to people usurping what he considers his rightful place.” The King responds.

Jon feels fear course through him then, making an enemy out of a man he has never met before, with the reputation that Lord Tywin has is a scary and intimidating thought. “Do you think we are making too much of it Your Grace? Do you think the attack might simply have been done by the Sons of the Dragon?”

The King snorts. “You know, that was who I thought you were going to mention Jon. Truth be told, I would like a bit of clarity on them and what they want. It is all too much right now.”

Jon nods in agreement, he knows just how the King feels, or at least he feels a lot of pain similar to how he thinks the King might feel. He takes a moment to think and then he asks. “Your Grace, when I spoke with Pate in the black cells, and before that, he said you were looking for something. And that it was something that could do all kinds of harm. Is that true?”

He sees the way the King’s face tightens then, and the way his fingers clench into a fist, before unclenching. The King is rather calm when he responds despite this. “Yes, I am looking for something Jon, whether or not it can cause harm or not is another matter entirely. I am sure you want to know what it is that I am looking for, and as of right now, I am myself not completely sure, but I am looking for something that could make this war go a bit easier for us.”

Intrigued Jon asks. “How might it do that Your Grace?”

The King fixes him with a stern gaze as he says. “There is much I do not quite understand about it yet Jon, I do not even know what it is called, but I do know that it exists, and that it is supposed to be quite powerful. Something that might make men bend where before they would only kill you.”

“Is it magic then?” Jon asks.

“Something like that, I am not quite sure what it is.” the King replies absently.

“Might I be of assistance then Your Grace? I can have people looking for it during times when we are otherwise occupied.” Jon suggests.

He feels a twinge of disappointment when he sees the King shake his head. “No, it is quite alright Jon. I do not think we need to draw attention to the fact that we are looking for something. No, we must find Pate, and figure out who is responsible for the attack on you.” the King pauses for a moment before he then asks. “Do you know who the people were then? The bodies who were made to look like you all?”

Jon feels a surge of loathing and horror fill him then at the images of those bodies. “I….I… I have not Your Grace. I, I do not know if they were merely peasants or if they were actual people. There is something about them, something deliberate about them though.”

The King nods, in what Jon hopes is understanding. “Quite, well best to leave that for others then.” the King pauses once more, and then he asks. “Now tell me Jon, you have spent more time with the Redwyne twins than I have as of late, have they said anything to you?”

Jon looks at the King questioningly. “Your Grace?”

“Have they said anything to you about their father?” the King asks.

Realising what the King means, Jon shakes his head. “No Your Grace, they have not. They barely speak to me anymore, it seems they have grown jealous of the things that are now coming to pass.”

The King nods. “Very well then. I want them watched night and day, put the best men we have on this task. I want to know who they meet, where they meet them and how long they meet them for. I do not trust them, and if I need to I will kill them.”

Jon nods fully agreeing with the King’s statement. “It shall be done Your Grace.”

Before he can ask a question that has been bothering him for some time, there is a knock on the door, and as the King calls for whoever it is to enter, they find themselves looking at Lord Tyrion. He seems to be out of breath, his face is red, and it is clear he has run here. “What is it?” the King asks.

“Banners have been sighted Your Grace.” Tyrion pants.

“Whose banners?” the King asks.

“Cafferen, Grandison, Fell, Florent. Stannis Baratheon’s banner.” Tyrion responds.

Jon looks at the King and sees something akin to fear and anger in the King’s eyes. “Do we know how many men?”

Tyrion shakes his head. “Couldn’t get an accurate count.”

“Very well, get the men ready Jon. We will defend the walls, I want archers on the walls, and men at every gate.” The King says, sounding for all the world like how Jon imagines King Robert sounded during the Trident.


	52. Durran I

**5 th Month of 299 A.C. Outside King’s Landing**

**Lord Durran Cafferen**

It was funny, Durran thought, that when last the rightful King had been challenged his grandfather had fought for the Targaryens and then sided with the usurper when he had lost at Summerhall. The Baratheons had long been a thorn in Durran’s family’s side for as long as he could remember, Lord Steffon had been a good man he knew that much from his father’s words, but his son Renly, well Renly had been a fool. Durran had only sided with him because the rest of the Stormlands had been converging on him and he had not wanted to face the tide and be defeated. Renly had been a fool and a Tyrell puppet he would never have held the support of the Stormlands for long, and then there had been Stannis. Durran knew Stannis had been a Kinslayer, could see it in his eyes, and so he had sided with the man merely because his cousin had told him that it would be good to have something to bring to the King. Bryce was a smart lad, even if he was a bit odd. And now here he was with his cousins, Grandison and Fell as well as that oath Florent, as they were camped outside the city preparing for the inevitable. Well not camped exactly, more like on horseback waiting for the inevitable.

Durran looks at Harlan Grandison, his cousin and best friend and says. “We’ve got a limited amount of time for this to work Harlan. If it does not then we might well be saying goodbye to our freedom. Are you sure Florent does not know what is about to happen?”

His cousin, the Lord of Grandview smiles a winning smile at him and responds. “I am sure of it Durran, the fool won’t know what has happened until it is too late. Fell has his men in place, we shall be fine.”

Durran nods. “I just don’t want things to end badly that is all. We are risking a lot by doing this, if it goes wrong we are done for. Stannis won’t be willing to let us back in.”

His cousin snorts then. “Stannis won’t have a leg to stand on when this is done. Trust me cousin, the King will need to accept our men, otherwise he will be done for.”

Durran falls silent then, thinking about the things that have led them to this moment. Renly was not the right choice for King, he was a puppet of the worst kind, a Tyrell puppet a man who would not think without Loras Tyrell doing those things to him in the privacy of his chambers. Margaery Tyrell was still a maiden, Durran knew that because she had rebuffed his cousin enough times for it to be obvious. Stannis, well that mad man was exactly that, too mad to serve anyone any good, and besides he did not hold the rightful claim to the throne. King Joffrey did, as King Robert’s heir, and the heir of the conqueror, Durran knew it was right to support him, and yet still he felt nervous. What if the King was mad? Almost as if sensing his thoughts his cousin turns to him and whispers. “Be patient cousin, the King is coming now.”

Durran wants to ask how his cousin knows, but then he too sees a figure, nay figures coming into view on the wall before them. And sure enough there is the King, flanked by three Kingsguard and the Stark boy with his wolf. “Who goes there?” the King calls out, his voice strong and commanding.

Durran moves his horse forward, chosen to speak for their group. “Lord Durran Cafferen, Lord Harlan Grandison and Lord Borros Fell Your Grace. We have come to speak with you.”

The King seems bemused then. “And why pray tell have you come with this force of men if you merely wished to speak with me? I had heard you were with Stannis, my whore of an uncle.”

Durran’s brow creases at the odd choice of wording there, but he replies all the same. “It was a ruse Your Grace. We sided with Stannis to gain information so that we might bring it to you and make sure that the rightful King was protected and knowledgeable about what was to come.”

“And how do I know that you are trustworthy? You fought for my other uncle as well did you not?” the King responds.

Durran swallows, feeling the sweat begin to run down his face, he wishes that he had decided against wearing such heavy armour now, but still, he cannot explain that to the King and so he takes a breath before saying. “We have come with a gift Your Grace, something to show our loyalty to you.”

Durran hears the curiosity in the King’s voice then and he closes his eyes momentarily hoping that Fell managed to pull it off. “And what thing is this?”

At that moment there is a large bang and then the sound of a scuffle reaches them, before silence falls around them, Durran can feel his heart hammering in his chest, wondering where Fell is and whether this has gone pear shaped. Eventually though he sees the banners of House Fell approaching he feels himself relax slightly, the closer they come the more relaxed he feels and so he says. “Your Grace, might I present to you Ser Alkeyne Florent, the heir to Brightwater Keep and his cousin Ser Imry Florent, both were to serve as commanders in Stannis’s army but we brought them here with us as proof of our loyalty.”

The King turns to speak with his companion Snow, and then turns back to Durran and calls out. “Well, are they alive or dead?”

Durran looks at the forms before him, which Fell’s men had thrown to the ground, he sees Imry is dead his body not moving, but Alkeyne is, he stares up at Durran with loathing. “Alkeyne is alive Your Grace.”

There is nothing but silence then and Durran fears that they have missed their chance, but then the King moves away from the edge of the wall and seems to disappear for a moment, before the gate opens up and he comes riding out with his Kingsguard and Snow and the direwolf at his side. The King stops before him, and Durran can see a hungry look in his eye when he says. “Kill him and then I will know you for true.”

Durran nods, he does not hesitate, he knows that their future depends on him doing this, dismounting from his horse, he takes his sword from a squire and moves toward Alkeyne, the man is just about stirring his mouth is broken, but his words are clear. “Traitor.” he murmurs.

Durran feels white hot anger flow through him then. “I am no traitor. Long Live the King!” he bellows that before swinging his sword in a great arc and removing Florent’s heads from his shoulders. The man’s head falls to the floor, and Durran turns toward the King then, he places his sword in the ground and gets to one knee. “From this day forward, my sword is yours Your Grace.” He hears it echoed by his and Grandison and Fell men and he feels a shiver run down his spine.

 


	53. Tyrion VI

****

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

Tyrion was not sure why he felt so nervous, well actually that was a lie, he knew damn well why he felt so nervous, a war was about to be fought for King’s Landing, and he was in command, alongside the King and Jon Snow. He had never fought in battle before, had not been old enough to fight in the Greyjoy rebellion or had not been allowed to fight in it, he could not remember exactly, but now here he was, stood on the walls of the city looking out across the water and praying he had gotten it all right. They had used some of the information Lords Cafferen and Grandison had given them, but he was not sure how reliable their information was, they had been fighting for two other people before coming to Joffrey after all. He worried about whether they’d be able to hold the city itself, even without the men under Cafferen and Grandison there were some fifteen thousand men under Stannis’s control if one did not count the Florents who numbered another three thousand that was more men than they had in King’s Landing.

He sighs and looks at the King then who stands at his side, looking out across the water as well. “Tell me again uncle, what do we have to fight this war?”

The King looks slightly haggard, and tired, Tyrion does not blame him, and this is not an easy business. Thinking quickly he says. “We have got the six thousand gold cloaks trained by Lord Jon and some five thousand men raised from close by the capital Your Grace. Lord Staunton has raised some six hundred men and is waiting for Stannis’s men in the Kingswood. And Lords Cafferen and Grandison are within the city with their men.”

The King nods and then asks. “Do you think Cafferen and Grandison can be trusted?”

Tyrion thinks for a moment and then says. “I am not sure Your Grace. They fought for Renly and sided with Stannis before coming here. They did get rid of Ser Alkeyne Florent and whilst that did remove the Florent men as well, there is something about them that I am not so sure about.”

The King seems to be contemplating this for his face scrunches up then. “They were Targaryen men during the rebellion as well were they not?”

Tyrion nods. “They were Your Grace.”

“Very well, I want them in the front line. They shall be handling the Iron Gate as well as the streets of Silver. I want them there ready to mount the offensive, should they come under fire, then they shall suffer the most casualties.” the King says.

Tyrion thinks on this for a moment and then nods. “A wise plan Your Grace, though knowing Cafferen it might be one he might complain of.”

The King snorts then. “I doubt it, the man wants to impress me and convince me that he has forgone his loyalty to my pillow biting uncle. He will want to take over any command I give him and if he suffers a loss of men, he will still thank me for giving him the command. Grandison shall be more difficult, there is a surety to him that there is not in Cafferen.”

Tyrion can see the wisdom in what the King is saying. “Grandison has always known that he was born for command, Cafferen was not. Grandison will always feel more comfortable in the lead, and even under Renly he chafed slightly.”

The King looks at him then, and Tyrion notes something odd about his eyes but it passes a moment later. “So you have spoken to Bryce then have you?”

“Yes Your Grace, he has been very useful in informing some of my plans.” Tyrion replies.

“Good, he has his uses, and he will continue to serve a purpose when the fighting has ended. Now tell me again of the ships and what is on them.” the King asks.

Tyrion takes a breath, the thought of the wildfire on the ships still makes him nervous, they do not have an experienced naval commander, but they do have men willing to push the ships out until they reach the part where Stannis’s fleet shall be coming. “There are forty-five ships moving out into open waters as we speak Your Grace, they are laid with gallons of wildfire that shall be set alight on the chain when it is lit.  The flames and the chain shall prevent the heavier of Stannis’s ships from settling in the open, and as such shall make them try and turn back.”

“You are certain of that?” the King asks.

“I am Your Grace. The fire shall burn green and red, and none will want to have to deal with that.” Tyrion replies.

“And what if the man brings the red witch on his ships? She has done something to keep her hold over him. What happens if she is there?” the King asks.

“Then we shall see if she is truly as powerful as the rumours claim. I doubt that she is Your Grace.” Tyrion replies.

“And what makes you say that?” the King enquires.

“Because magic does not exist in this world Your Grace. It has not existed since the last dragon died. And as such Stannis Baratheon is the not the sort of man to rely on something such as that to win what he believes his by right.” Tyrion says.

The King nods and then says. “I want archers manning the walls, I do not want anyone coming to close to the walls of the Keep. And furthermore, I want the people kept within their houses when the horns sound.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Tyrion replies.

“And another thing uncle. I do not want anyone looking for lion banners during the fighting. We shall fly stag banners and we shall make sure that any bearing my uncle’s banner are destroyed, do you understand?” the King says.

“Yes Your Grace.” Tyrion replies, and he goes to say something, but before he can he hears the sound of a horn, and then another horn, and soon enough a third horn. It has begun.


	54. Davos II

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. Blackwater**

**Ser Davos Seaworth**

Davos could feel his heart hammering away in his chest. He had fought once before during the Greyjoy Rebellion and during that battle he had felt like he was not contributing anything, it was true that he had been a smuggler, but being a smuggler and actually fighting were two completely different things. He felt that he had stuck out like a sore thumb there was something about it all that left him feeling rather odd here. He was not commanding the fleet, the King held overall command but Ser Axell Florent held command of the main fleet of ships and as such was advancing through the fog that engulfed the blackwater, Davos did not think they were going about things the right way, but he knew he would not be listened to even if he spoke. The Florents did not like him, they never had, and because of their devotion to the red woman they would never listen to him. The King listened to him though and so here he was, with his gut twisting and turning, he could not explain it but something felt off, the fog was ominous enough but there was something else.

Through the fog Davos hears a horn being sounded, and it stirs something deep within him, an old fear, he had grown up in King’s Landing when the dragons had ruled, and he had heard the tales of the dragon horns, he does not think that that is what that sound is, but it brings the fear back into him. It sounds once, twice and then a third time, and by that third sound he is shaking, quite literally, his hand is shaking something fierce and he is not sure what to do. His son Maric coming to him then, but he shakes his head, he does not want to show the fear he feels or why he feels it. He clutches the bag with his bones in it and prays to the Seven, he hopes they survive this, whatever might come, he hopes they survive and that King Stannis sits the throne that is rightfully his, but for some reason he is not sure that they will.  “Raise the sails higher.” He barks out, he wants to get the wind that has suddenly appeared he wants to make sure that they have everything they need to succeed.

The sails are raised, and he breathes easier slightly, the horn still unsettles him, he is not sure why, but something about that makes him wonder if he was wrong to ask the King not to bring the red witch with them. She might be a nuisance, but there was something about her presence that was settling to some of the men. He was not sure why he was thinking this now, but it was true. She had some power over the King that much was clear, otherwise she would not have managed to convince him to do the things that he had done, the King was a changed man, he looked unwell, his eyes were sunken and his face looked scarred. Davos worried for the King, but he dared not voice his fears aloud, he knew just how slippery a slope it was to the fires of the red witch, he had seen her burn people before they had left for good winds, and now there was fog and wind. Gods this was too much, he was a smuggler not a fighter, and he did not know what to make of it all.

The fog begins to clear slightly as they move through, the waters are calm, that eases his nerves somewhat, but he still feels as if there is something wrong with everything, something is not quite right, it does not feel as if they are going to attack a city, where are the ships? Cafferen and Grandison did not return, and Davos thinks they might’ve turned traitor, but the King believes that they have not, ‘why reason would they have to support Lannister bastards?’ the King had asked in Storm’s End and for a time Davos had agreed with him, but as things have progressed he is not sure. Something is not right here, and as he looks out from the front of the deck he sees the flag ship commanded by Ser Axell disappear into a new run of fog, and then from somewhere a horn sounds, and Davos feels himself shudder in fear. He knows that sound, he has heard it before, somewhere, when he was a smuggler, long ago. Something terrible, something terrifying, it is coming before him now once more.

He looks at his son and sees Maric’s eyes widen, and as he wonders why he hears a shout go up. “Ships ahead.”  The call goes out and Davos sees the ships coming before them, and yet he notes that there are a distinct lack of people on these ships, he does not know where the people are supposed to be, but by the gods this is not what he thought he would see.

“Father, look.” Maric says, Davos looks at his son and then looks to where his son is pointing, and he feels something in him drop. Glinting in the light, the ships have a new look to them, there is something there, something he can feel deep within his gut, but he is not sure what it is. He stares at the ship next to him, and then he feels something rock the ship, and he feels his dread grow.

“Dragons.” that is what he says when he hears a horn sound once more and then green lights come forth. It takes him a moment to realise that they are not lights, but fire, fire? BY the seven where did the fire come from? “We must move!” he bellows then, none are listening to him though, and he wonders why. He gets his answer when he sees the fire coming toward them, billowed on the wind and on a golden chain, the ships before them are on fire.

He begins to shout, but his words are drowned on the wind and the great gust of fire that comes forward then, engulfing the ship and all on it. He hears the screams of his men, but he is powerless to do anything to stop it, he feels himself shaking in fear then as the flames come closer and closer, he tries to get to Maric, but before he can he sees his son engulfed in the flames, green fire making his son scream. He screams, but no sound comes out, the fire is a cruel mistress, and as she comes toward him, he sees her smile with a wicked glint in her, and her kiss is that of a red haired women he knew once.


	55. Sansa III

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Sansa was afraid, she was terrified, she was not sure what to expect tonight. For so long the war had seemed a faraway distant thing that had no bearing on her or on Jon, and now it had come to them. Stannis Baratheon had come to stake his claim to a throne he had no right to, she was not sure what to make of it all, she only hoped that Robb was not part of Stannis’s host, she did not think she could deal with having to see her brother die. Jon would be fighting, but she was not sure what she felt for Jon, she had never seen him as a brother, and now, well now she was afraid to put a name to the thing she felt for him. Trying to turn her attention to other matters, she looked around the Maiden Vault, where she had been named as Lady of the Castle with Queen Cersei awaiting trial. The ladies seemed scared, but they were there and were looking at her or at each other.

Sansa looks at Jeyne and says softly. “Have you heard anything recently Jeyne? Do you know what is happening outside?”

Her friend had become good friends with someone in the city watch and through him they had learned about some of the plans for the battle, plans none had shared with her, not the King and not Jon. “I know that Jon will be on the walls alongside the King. And I know that the city watch are scattered throughout the city holding the gates. They’ve forced the people to wait inside their houses until the fighting is done.”

Sansa nods, a good plan, and one she thinks Jon might’ve come up with. “Do you know when the fighting might begin?”

Just as she asks that, a horn sounds, and Sansa feels a shiver run through her, the horn sounds once more and then a third time, and Sansa knows she has her answer. She closes her eyes and says a quick prayer before opening her eyes and seeing Jeyne looking at her with some concern on her face. “What is it?” she asks.

“I…” Jeyne begins before trailing off. “No it is nothing.”

“No go on do say Jeyne.” Sansa prompts her friend.

Her friend takes a moment before speaking. “I think Ser Edgen might start courting me.”

Sansa thinks on this for a moment and then says. “Well isn’t that nice. I am happy for you Jeyne.”

Her friend blinks, surprised. “You do not think anything else?”

Sansa looks at her friend and says. “No, why should I? He is a good man.”

A snort of laughter sounds then, and Sansa turns to find Cerenna Lannister there looking at them both, contempt in her eyes. “Edgen? He is a rogue.”

Sansa looks at the lady then, a cousin to the Queen, and somewhat like her, Sansa has never truly liked her. “And what makes you say that my lady? Have you met him before?”

“Met him? Why he courted me once before as well, when I was first here. He courts all the girls who are associated with the royal family, and he will do nothing about making any offers to you girl, so forget about him.” Cerenna says.

Sansa sees her friend’s lip begin to quiver, and she notes how her friend looks as if she is about to snap, but instead she finds herself surprised when Jeyne takes a deep breath and says. “Well, I am sorry if he did that to you, but I do not think he would do that to me.”

Sansa hears Cerenna snort. “I feel sorry for you then girl.” And with that the lady goes back to her own group of friends.

Sansa takes Jeyne’s hand then and squeezes it. “I am sure Ser Edgen is a good man and that he shall do the right thing.” She says reassuringly.

Jeyne nods. “Of course.” Her friend pauses for a moment and then she asks. “And what of you and Jon?”

Sansa looks at her friend surprised. “What do you mean?”

Her surprise increases when Jeyne laughs. “Oh come now Sansa, we both know there is something going on between you two.”

Sansa blushes slightly then, feeling the heat on her cheeks. “I, I do not know. He is my brother, whatever there is between us, it is not right.”

“Who says? The Targaryens wed brother to sister for years, and furthermore, the Old Gods don’t have anything against family marrying one another.” Jeyne reasons.

“The Seven do though, and we are in the south. I do not even know if what I feel for Jon is romantic or something else entirely. It is not right regardless.” Sansa counters.

“So you will not do anything? You will not even bother trying to explore what might happen? Sansa, the King would give you whatever you wanted. We both know that he cares for Lady Margaery than he has ever done for you. If you ask I am sure he will grant your request. Why not give it a chance?” Jeyne says.

“Because I do not know if Jon feels the same way. Why would he? After all, this thing is not natural. It is wrong, so very wrong.” Sansa replies.

“No one can really say what is natural or unnatural.” a voice replies behind her, and Sansa looks round to see an old lady speaking. Lady Staunton she thinks. “Only an individual can truly tell what they think or feel.”

Sansa looks at the woman and then realises that the woman would have been here when the Sack of King’s Landing happened. Finding her curiosity picking up she asks. “And what makes you say that my lady?”

The Lady chuckles softly then. “Because I have seen it before. There was a time long ago when it was alright to express one’s views openly, but since the rebellion, it has not been right to voice complaints when the dragons were so much worse.”

Sansa does not quite understand what the lady means, but before she can ask, Lady begins howling, and outside another direwolf howls, and she feels fear grow through her then.


	56. Stannis I

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. Outside King’s Landing**

**King Stannis I Baratheon**

Having to fight for his throne was something that grated on him a lot. Stannis was not sure how people could be so foolish as to believe that Joffrey was the son of Robert, the boy was nothing like his father, and he looked nothing like him either, there was enough evidence to suggest the truth, and yet people were fighting for the boy instead of him. Just as they had fought for Renly instead of him. Renly, his brother haunted him even now, the man was nothing like the boy he had been, and for that Stannis blamed the Tyrells and Robert. His brother was dead, but he remained there mocking Stannis, always mocking. He did not know why, but he was almost sad, and angry, he wanted to know why his life had come to this and he did not know what the answer would be, he was not sure he wanted to know.

Green fire glimmered on the water, wildfire, and the work of the fools who wanted to bring the work of dragon flame to life. Stannis was not surprised that such dishonourable methods had been used by the Lannisters, they needed all they could get to win. He had far superior numbers even without Cafferen and Grandison, he had more men and ships than the boy had, and could land easily enough without the green fire. It had destroyed much of the fleet, and he could hear the screams of the men as they drowned and burned on the water. He grits his teeth to the sound, he cannot allow himself to fall victim to sentimentality now, and of course he cannot. To do so would be to bring weakness. He feels tight in his armour, it has never sat well with him, but he will do his duty, of course he will, there is nothing else to do now but fight.

Drawing Lightbringer from its sheathe, Stannis moves forward to the front of the deck, he can see the shore coming into view, there are men there waiting. He takes a breath and then bellows. “Men of Dragonstone and the Stormlands, we are here to fight for right and justice. Let us fight now. Over and under.” The ship docks and then he is running down, there is no time to bring horses, he must fight, he has to fight, and his men might break otherwise. Stannis swings his sword then, feeling the satisfying clank of steel on steel. The men of the crownlands are there waiting to fight him. He fights and swings, knocking one man down and moving onward, not bothering to remain there. His men will finish that man, he needs to get to the gates of the city. Another man comes in front of him, and Stannis knocks that man down as well, his blood is pumping, and it is now that he can understand why Robert liked fighting so much. There is a sense of being powerful, of being in control that flows through him now, it is a heady feeling.

Another man, a brute of man this, comes toward him then wielding an axe, Stannis avoids the potential blow and manages to deflect another one, he blocks the man’s next swing, his arms ache now, but still he holds the axe in a strong grip on his sword. He will not break first, he never has broken first. The man with the axe breaks away first, and as he is trying to get his breath back, Stannis moves in, he swings and parries and then his sword has pierced a whole in the man’s throat, he pulls Lightbringer out and moves on. His men are falling onto the enemy now, there is a crushing sense of victory filling them, and the men before them seem to be falling in greater numbers than their own men.  There are a vast array of colours before him now, and he does not know nor really care whether they are fighting for the crown or not, they shall die for standing in his way.

Lightbringer is wet with the blood of many men by the time a gap in the throng of the enemy comes into sight. Stannis moves toward it now, his guards following at his side, he does not have a Kingsguard, it seems wrong to have a Kingsguard when he is not crowned yet. That will change soon enough, by the end of tonight if luck is with him. He snorts, luck, he has never believed in luck, but he does not believe in a god either. On he moves, his sword drawn before him ready to strike should the enemy move forward and bring them to their doom. None seem to want to do that, in fact it seems they are deliberately trying to allow him easy passage through to the city. He is not sure why they would do that, and yet they are, it raises his suspicions but still there is more fighting to be done.

Almost as if in answer to his suspicions, arrows come raining down on him and his men, he hears some of his guards fall down in their throes of pain, but none of the arrows hit him. He pushes on, knowing that the archers will need time to reload, and so he continues. He has fewer men around him now than he did before, but that does not matter, he can see the gates of the city before him. He roars a command and his men move out and attack those defending them, those who had come entrusted with the rams use them then, arrows are flying around him, there is chaos everywhere, but in the midst of it all Stannis feels nothing but calmness. He knows now that the sword will guide his path, this must have been how Robert felt at the Trident, a calmness, and a sense of justice and righteousness. He will have the throne that is rightfully his, and he will have it by the end of tonight.

The gate flies open then, the ram is dropped and the arrows stop firing. Stannis feels his heart soar then, and he bellows another command and he and his men enter the city. He spots Cafferen banners then, and he knows then that Davos was right to mistrust the man, he has traitor’s blood in him, just like his father. Stannis runs forward then, his sword raised, but none of the men attack him, instead they go for his guard, he runs forward, but he cannot see Cafferen anywhere that surprises him and worries him equally. Something is going on here, but he is not sure just what it is. Just as he is about to turn back and help his men, he hears a soft growling noise to his left hand side, turning he sees a white direwolf looking at him, its eyes, red.


	57. Jon XVIII

****

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The battle was something fierce, Jon had never thought his first taste of war would be like this, the city was being attacked from several different sides, and he was struggling to hold one of the gates. Archers were raining fire down on those men who were trying to break through the King’s Gate, how they had managed to get that close he did not know, and he was frankly beginning to think that it was not important, he had to keep the gate secure, he could not allow it to break. If he did that, then they would be overwhelmed, the bastards on the ground below had archers as well, or spearmen, or something that was allowing them to take out as many of his men as he was taking out of theirs. It was infuriating. Looking around him he barks out. “I want more men on the southern side of this wall, we cannot allow them to break through.” Jon watches as men go sprinting off to where he is pointing, and he feels slightly better, but then a massive crash somewhere close by ends that feeling, he looks around and sees men climbing over the wall. “Archers, western side fire.” he roars.

A chorus of arrows go flying up toward those slowly making their way over the walls, he does not want to think about the men the city will lose during this battle, such a thought would make it unbearable to keep fighting, he is only glad that Sansa is safely inside the maiden vault, he is not sure what he would do if she was harmed. More men are coming toward them over the walls, he draws his sword and begins moving toward them, but stops as their ladders fall to the ground. He looks around and sees the archers firing in his general direction. “Keep arrows high and strait.” he barks. The arrows veer straighter after that shout, and he breathes a sigh of relief, he did not want to face more fire than he had to. He thinks the gate will be safe, but he knows that other sides are coming under increasing fire, he is not sure where the King is, but he hopes the King is safe, just as he hopes Ghost is as well.

Jory is at his side, as they watch the carnage unfolding below them, and when a runner comes to him panting, Jon waits for a moment and then says. “What is it?”

“The King…. he requests your presence my lord.” the runner says.

Jon nods and then says. “Jory come with me.” He then looks at Harwin. “Harwin, you are in command of the wall until I return.” the man nods and then Jon is off, striding down the steps and down toward the city proper.  Despite the fighting going on outside the city, the streets are relatively quiet and empty, thanks to the precautions the King had taken beforehand, Jon finds himself grateful for that much. Having innocent people in the firing line would be too much to take. He follows the runner and as they come close to where the King is situated at the River Gate, Jon feels his stomach sink, the gate has been breached. Men are pouring into the city wearing the livery of Stannis Baratheon, a flaming stag. It sickens him seeing them there, and his sword is before him drawn ready to kill any who come into his path.

As it turns out, men are more than willing to throw themselves at him and meet their deaths at the end of his blade. His steel glints in the pale light of the night, his sword swings in a moving arch, cutting and slashing, and though his heart hammers in his chest, he feels as if he might be able to live through this all if he keeps his mind clear. A man comes toward him wielding a mace, he ducks under a swing, and then with a quick one-two he manages to pierce the man’s armour allowing him a better frame with which to bring his sword down in a quick arc, the man falls and Jon continues onward. Another man comes forward this time, and Jon takes a bit of a battering from him, the man is a good swordsman, almost as good as him, they parry one another’s blows, and ride back and forth, going from strength to weakness and back to strength, trying desperately to break through the cycle, but not being able to.

Eventually, through some divine intervention, or perhaps just pure luck, he finds a gap in the man’s armour and manages to dig a hole into, enough to make the man fall to his knees, Jon stares at the man for a long moment before raising his sword, and slowly and surely bringing it down and ending the man. He staggers through, the crowd is fighting itself, tearing itself in two.  More men are pouring through the gate, and if the sounds of horns elsewhere within the city is any indication they are coming in elsewhere as well. His mind is sluggish, his body is tired, and he is wounded, but still he moves on, he can see the King in the distance, fighting someone, that is not right, the King should not be fighting anyone, and the Kingsguard should be protecting him.  He shouts, but his voice cannot be heard over the din of battle, he moves forward, and his feet are stuck in mud and blood, he cannot see Ghost anywhere that worries him, it worries him greatly.

As if sensing his discomfort, a man comes barrelling toward him, a look of pure glee on his non- helmeted face, Jon snarls then, trying desperately to break free from the chains he finds himself in, but he is unable to move. The man comes closer and closer, and then he is there, he swings his axe at Jon, and Jon only just about manages to block the man’s swing. They hold their weapons in place for another little while and then break apart, on the second exchange, Jon’s sword is knocked from his hands, and he feels the death blow about to come, when suddenly, a white blur comes and tears the man down. Ghost, come back at last. Jon finds himself able to move, and he picks up his sword and looks out to see where the King is and what he sees terrifies him.

Two of the Kingsguard are dead, their bodies lying motionless on the ground before him, their cloaks and their armour are stained red. The King is being circled by two men, and Jon has a feeling one of them might be a member of his Kingsguard, the King’s sword is nowhere to be seen, and he is backing further and further back into the waiting fray of hounds and dogs. Jon bellows something, what he will never know, but one of the men turns around and comes toward him. Jon brings his sword up and prepares for another fight, Ghost has gone, has disappeared somewhere, Jon does not know where, and right now he does not care. The man comes toward him, and they fight. Steel clashes with steel, and sparks fly, they are both tired, but Jon is quicker, he has always been quicker, even when he fought Robb he was quicker, and this time he manages to bring the man down to his knees and down to the ground before they can blink. His body cries out in protest though, and he has to force himself to keep going, the King is not safe yet, he moves, or staggers through the muck and blood, and eventually manages to do something dishonourable he hits the man nearing the King on the back. The man turns round then and they engage in a fight, Jon’s memory blurs and the next thing he knows is that the man is dead on the ground before him. The King looks at him, his eyes wide with panic and something that looks akin to gratefulness, Jon is not sure what to make of that, for the next moment he hears a voice.

“The bastard.” Jon turns around and sees a man wearing grey armour, with a flaming heart over it, his helm has antlers, but they have been dented. This must be Stannis Baratheon.

Jon moves in front of the King, his body aching and screaming in protest, his mind sluggish, but there is anger in his heart and his words. “He is the rightful King.”

The man before him snorts. “He is nothing but a bastard, born of a crime his parents committed.”

Jon stares at the man, he does not dare look at the King, for he knows that if he does that, his mind will question and in war that is not a good thing. “You are lying. You always did lie. I should never have expected better from a Kinslayer.”

The man snarls then. “Step aside boy, do not get yourself needlessly killed for this fool.”

Jon stiffens. “He is no fool he is the rightful King. Now fight or leave, you are not welcome here.”

The man sighs. “A shame, I had been told you were like your father, not your uncle.”

Jon moves forward then, and swings, Baratheon moves back and Jon’s swing misses, Baratheon moves forward then and Jon moves back. He hears Baratheon grunt in frustration and grins underneath his helm, the game has just begun. He swings this time and connects, a spark comes off of Baratheon’s armour, and Jon smiles underneath his helm. He moves to the side when Baratheon swings, and then hits the man’s chest with his sword, and then pulls back, but Baratheon still manages to hit him, causing him to wince. His body is aching now, he can feel the pain surrounding him like a glove, he tries to push it down but it keeps coming back. Baratheon moves forward and swings, Jon gets hit in the helm then, and he blinks as his vision swims slightly at the impact, by the time he is able to see clearly again, Stannis has hit him once more, in the stomach, his armour lessens the blow but still it stings.

Baratheon moves back then, and Jon feels himself drifting, he is finding it harder and harder to remain focussed, his body aches, by gods does it ache, but still he moves forward, and he swings, Baratheon brings his sword up to block his swing, and sparks fly. They both try to break the lock they are in, but neither really succeed until Baratheon moves forward and pushes him back causing him to break the stalemate, he thinks Baratheon might move back but is not surprised when Baratheon comes at him in full thrust. Jon just about manages to block one of the swings, but the next few hit him hard regardless, and his body screams in pain, he grunts when one of the blows hits him just above his throat, he can feel blood slowly trickling out of the wounds he is getting, gods he feels tired. Baratheon does not let up though, he moves back and then forward, and Jon is stuck fighting off blows left, right and centre, his sword feels like it is on fire, and his arms feel as if they might fall off.

“Surrender, and this will end.” he hears Baratheon say.

“Never.” Jon growls.

“I will give you Winterfell.” Baratheon says.

That angers Jon, “It is not yours to give traitor.” He finds a new lease of life then and begins swinging his sword and ducking and dodging, he goes for things much harder than he did before, determined to end the man before him. Stannis is clearly surprised by this turn of events, as he falls backwards and then staggers upright again, Jon manages to sever some of his ties to the ground though, blood seeps through the man’s armour, and when Jon knocks the man’s helm off, he is surprised at how gaunt the man looks. The man’s sword falls away, broken, and Jon growls. “Surrender.”

The man looks at him with such hate in his eyes then. “Never.”

Jon sighs, his body aching and crying out for relief, and he does not even look at the King when he thrusts his sword into Baratheon’s exposed throat. The man’s eyes widen momentarily, before he falls to the ground.


	58. Erren I

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Erren Florent**

King’s Landing stank, Erren did not like the smell of the place, and he knew that even if he were not fighting a battle, he would find the place disgusting. As it was, his armour and the sweat and blood and mud was making the smell so much worse. It was quite painful, and he knew that unless he could find somewhere to stop and breathe he would die, he just couldn’t keep fighting like this. He regretted coming with the army to fight now, it had seemed like a good thing to do at the time, but now he remembered why he had had so many nightmares during the aftermath of the Greyjoy rebellion, he was not a fighter. Yes he could swing a sword, but he had learned long ago that that did not make one a fighter. The image of the ships burning on the water was burned into his mind and no matter how hard he tried he just seemed unable to prevent it from coming back. There was chaos all around him, and yet the image of those men burning and dying was etched into his mind.

A man came toward him then, swinging like a mad man, Erren manages to avoid the blow, and hits the man in the chest, and he sees the man blow out steam, his helm having disappeared long ago. Erren, his blood up moves back toward the man and then in two swings has the man down and bleeding. He takes no satisfaction from it, he is not his brother Imry, he does not revel in blood, he prefer books and learning to fighting, but he would do his duty. Duty, the thing that seems to have cost his father and his house more than it has earned them. The fighting is growing more and more intense, and Erren knows that his father’s men will break soon. They do not have the same will as the men defending King’s Landing do, they never would have done. His sword is red with blood, but still more men come, and those who were on the ground raise themselves up once more.

He does not know why his family decided to support Stannis after they had thrown their lot in with Renly, perhaps it was because they knew the Tyrells would not side with Stannis. He snorts to himself then, that rivalry has seen almost all of their adult men slain during the course of this battle as well as the fighting that they engaged in before they left the Reach. It has drained much of their power, but still they fight. The desire to gain Highgarden seems odd, it does not seem right, something about it just seems like greed, his uncle is not a greedy man normally, but when it comes to Highgarden, it seems that he is the greediest man one would ever know. Not being directly in line to Brightwater Keep, Erren had to make his own way in life, and so far, it has been a struggle, he served for a time at Highgarden, and he knows that however this battle ends, his family will be done for. They cannot stand against the tide of Highgarden, and Stannis cannot win, he knows that deep down in his heart, his Goodbrother is not the right man for the throne.

More men come toward him then, and Erren can feel his body groan in protest, he does not want to fight, he would welcome the surrender of a blanket and some warm food, but he knows he would not get that now. And so he raises his sword and runs to meet the men coming toward him, he blocks the swing of one man, and then misses the other man, they come at him again and again, in a manner that reminds him of Ser Garlan Tyrell, he wonders at that, he was friends with that Tyrell once when he was younger, though he has not seen him for some time. Perhaps, he never will see him again, the way the fighting is going, it seems very likely that he will not see him again. He swings his sword and moves and dances, but the attacks keep coming, slowly and surely the two men tire and that is when he strikes. He blocks, dances and swings, and then they fall to the ground, his body feels broken though, and he knows he will not make it far.

The red woman who whispers in Stannis’s ear is a worrying thing to Erren, he was raised on the seven, and he would not willingly shed his gods, not for some fire demon that reminds him too much of the stories he heard of the mad King, and as such he does not see why his sister and his father give into her so readily. His sister, he can somewhat understand, Selyse has never been the most stable of people, but his father? His father seems to be doing it to gain more power, and that sickens Erren, almost as much as Imry’s treatment of Ser Davos does. His family have much to learn about making themselves liked, for too long they have stewed in the pits of enmity with the Tyrells, and others have grown strong and powerful, not today. But he cannot change that, for he knows that today is the day he shall die.

A lull in the fighting comes then, and Erren wonders at it, he does not understand what might have caused such a thing to happen, and then a shout goes out. “Stannis Baratheon is dead. The false king is dead.” The words wash over him and cause him to go into a daze he almost does not believe it, and then the sinking realisation of the truth of the words comes home to him. Stannis is dead, the battle is over, the men are fleeing now, they are breaking and fleeing, but Erren cannot move, all he can do is stand there and watch it all unfurl. He feels numb, he thinks that perhaps he should throw down his sword, but his body will not move.

A man comes toward him then and Erren gasps. “Edgen? What are you doing here?”

“Why, I have come to see you off brother.” The man swings his sword, and Erren does not bother blocking the strike, he falls to his knees, blood pooling from his wounds, and he hears the man whisper. “The master sends his regards.”


	59. Jon XIX

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The battle was over, it had been over from the moment he had removed Stannis Baratheon’s head from his shoulders, and the cry had gone out. There had been a rout after that, Stannis’s men had fled, and most had been killed, something had snapped within the men of the crownlands and King’s Landing, they were not willing to allow the enemy who had threatened their homes and their loved ones to get away, and so a massacre had ensued. Jon had not really been a party to that, he had been bone weary at that point, and wanted only to sleep, but he had had to get the people in order again, and once the few survivors had been taken prisoner or had fled, then the city had calmed and battle had ended. Just as the last men were fleeing, the Lannister army had come, alongside the Tyrell army that had been something he had found amusing, the fighting was over, Stannis was dead, and now the army had come. It was almost as if they were trying to make fun of them. Regardless, they were in the throne room now, the King looked resplendent in a gold tunic and the Baratheon stag flew proudly from the ceiling, Jon stood there in front of the King and listening as he spoke.

“Stannis Baratheon is dead, he died fighting Lord Jon Snow, he was slain in combat, and his claim to my throne ended there and then. For that, I would name Jon saviour of the city, and I would name him the rightful hero of the battle. Come forward Jon.” the King says.

Jon is slightly surprised by this turn of events and walks forward- or rather limps, his legs are killing him still- and kneels before the King. “Your Grace.” he says softly.

The King’s voice is strong and commanding when he speaks. “Jon Snow, you are a brave man, and an honest one. You have stood by my side through all the trials and tribulations of the past year. I thank you for your honourable and loyal service. Not only that but I owe you my life, for had it not been for your quick thinking, I would not be here now. For that I am forever in your debt.” Jon looks up then and sees how uncomfortable the King seems at saying all of this, and Jon realises that the King is struggling to find the right words with which to thank him. The King continues. “Now, you are my friend and my brother in arms, I am honoured to name you as such, and I would give you whatever your heart desired, if it is within my power to give. You need only name it.”

Jon tenses then, he remembers what happened when he rode back into the keep and came to the Maiden vault, and he remembers the smell of Sansa’s hair when she hugged him, he remembers her eyes which had been filled with worry, and he remembers something of what they had said. But he knows he cannot act on that, she does not feel the same for him, she cannot feel the same way about him, it is wrong. He takes a deep breath and then says. “I wish to merely serve Your Grace as best as I can.”

The whole court is silent, though Jon knows that Lannister and Tyrell are looking at him with keen interest. The King however, it seems has other things in mind. “Nonsense, Jon, you are my strong right hand, one King once said that his brother in arms was his right hand, and so too are you. I would see you rewarded fairly and justly. From this day forth, your sister Lady Sansa shall be in your custody, and her affairs are yours to handle and manage.”

Jon sees the sincerity in the King’s eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you Your Grace.”

 “Furthermore, I would see you given lordship over Dragonstone for the time being, and granted its lands and incomes. I would also see you named as Lord of the Manors of Brindlewood, Sow’s Horn and Hayford.  It is only fitting that you have lands that belong within your own name and because of your own skill.” the King says.

Jon is truly stunned by this, he had not been expecting that. “I thank you, Your Grace.” he replies.

The King continues. “And finally, there is one last thing that I wish to give you in reward for your leal service Jon. As I have said before, I have nothing but respect and admiration for you. You have been a true friend when there were many vipers trying to suck away at me. We have come through a battle, and though the war is not done yet, there is much that can be done. And I would see you given the thing that I know you wish for the most.” The King pauses then, and Jon wonders what he is talking about. “Pycelle, you have the scroll?” the King asks.

“Yes Your Grace, I have it here.” the old grand maester says, before he walks to the foot of the throne and hands it to Ser Barristan Selmy who then walks up one of the steps to hand it to the King.

The King takes the scroll from Selmy and opens it. “I, Joffrey Baratheon, King of Westeros, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, in good conscience and faith hereby legitimise Jon Snow, natural born son of Lord Eddard Stark, and do hereby name him Jon Stark. Furthermore, in light of his bravery and his true actions, I name him Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

A cheer goes up then, and Jon is stunned, truly stunned, he had not been expecting that, he looks at the King and sees happiness there, he risks looking behind him and sees Sansa staring at him with a strange expression on her face. He is not sure what to make of that, and he knows he will need to speak with her later. He looks back to the King then and says. “I am humbled and honoured by these rewards Your Grace. I thank you.”

Jon watches as the King stands and descends down from the throne, and as he comes before Jon, he hears him speak. “Rise, Lord Stark.” Jon rises and is surprised when the King embraces him. They stay like that for a moment and then the King breaks the embrace and turns and walks back up the steps to sit on the throne.

Jon stands there for a moment before bowing before the throne, turning and walking back into the crowd, where various people clap him on the back and whisper congratulations. And though that part is done, there is more to come he knows. He looks for where Sansa is, but he cannot see her, it seems she has been eaten by the crowd, the thought sends a nervous shudder through him, there is much they need to discuss, and yet he is not sure, just how he will do that.

His thoughts are interrupted though when the King speaks once more. “Now, we are not done just yet. We lost two members of the noble brotherhood of the Kingsguard, and as such there are two spots available. We would invite Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Rolland Storm to come forward and accept their white cloaks.” Jon watches as the two knights come forward before kneeling before the throne, where the King stands and places the white cloaks on their shoulders, they then rise and join their brothers.  The King continues. “We also welcome Lord Tywin Lannister to court and invite him to accept his position on the small council as Hand of the King.”

Jon watches as Lord Tywin walks forward, the man walks with a bit of swagger in his step, and his armour glistens brightly in the morning light, he stops before the throne and bows. “I am here to serve at your pleasure Your Grace.”

The King nods and personally gives the badge of Hand to Lord Tywin, the badge had been recovered from the battlefield where it seemed to have fallen off of Lord Tyrion, a man who had disappeared but then had been found unconscious. The King continues to speak. “And now for the Tyrells. We welcome you to our capital and to our alliance. It has come to our attention that there were things that were agreed upon this alliance, but we are not sure that those terms can be met, considering the prior arrangements made.”

Jon knows that this bit is a bit of ceremony, a necessary evil, but still it makes him grit his teeth that the Tyrells would have the audacity to demand anything from their King. As if on cue the High Septon comes forward. “Your Grace, the betrothal between yourself and Lady Sansa was made when one thought that Lord Eddard had noble intentions and that his eldest trueborn son and heir was friends with you. It would not be in good faith to marry someone who would not uphold that.”

Jon grits his teeth then, and he sees the King look at him, the King merely shakes his head slightly, indicating that they shall deal with the Tyrells in due time. But aloud he says. “I see, then I am in good faith to end my betrothal to the Lady Sansa?”

“You are, Your Grace.” the High Septon responds.

The King nods and then says. “Lady Margaery come forward so I might see you.”

The lady comes forward then, and she is beautiful, Jon does have to admit that, whether or not she is as beautiful as Sansa- he should not think of her that way- is another thing. Still she comes before the throne and curtseys. “Your Grace.”

Jon notes the change in the King’s facial expression then, and sees how fond he looks of the Lady, he had never looked at Sansa that way, and Jon finds himself breathing in relief at that thought. “My lady, am I right in understanding that you and I are to be betrothed?” the King asks.

“If you will accept me Your Grace, I would like nothing more.” the Lady replies.

The King thinks over this for a moment, but Jon already knows what he will say. “Then, we are officially betrothed. I shall leave it to our families to decide on the marriage details. Now then, if there is nothing more for us to discuss, this meeting is at an end.”

The hall falls completely silent as the King walks down the steps of the throne and then out of the throne room accompanied by the Kingsguard, he briefly looks at Jon, and Jon knows that he shall have to find the King soon enough, but for now, he is content to stand and wait. Once the King leaves, people mill around and talk, but Jon is not interested in that, he wants to find Sansa, and so he pushes through the crowd and then he sees her. She is talking to Jeyne Poole, and looking so very beautiful it hurts, it hurts him a lot to see her like that, and not be able to act on it.  He moves to speak to her, but before he can, he is intercepted. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

Jon looks to see who is speaking to him, and finds himself looking at Petyr Baelish. “My lord?” he enquiries.

“Congratulations on becoming a Lord my lord. And not just of the north, but of manors in the crownlands as well. My, my, I must say you have done well for yourself.” Baelish replies.

Jon feels his irritation grow slightly at Baelish but he keeps his voice calm as he responds. “I thank you my lord Baelish, now if you might excuse me there is someone I need to speak to.”

“Of course my lord.” Baelish says before he disappears.

Jon looks for Sansa, but finds she has disappeared, he tries hard to fight the disappointment that grows within him then.

 


	60. Sansa IV

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

The battle of the Blackwater had ended in a victory for the throne, for Joffrey. Stannis Baratheon’s head was mounted on a spike atop the King’s Gate for all to see, his body had been split into seven pieces and sent out across the kingdoms as a message for those who still considered rebelling- people like Robb- and ships were being sent to Dragonstone to bring Lady Shireen and her mother to court. Sansa was happy that the battle was over and that they were all still alive, she was happy that she was not betrothed to the King anymore, not because she did not like the King- she did- but increasingly she had found her affections running elsewhere, though she was not exactly sure what that meant, or whether it would ever come to anything. Still, now she was under Jon’s supervision, she got to move around a lot more, and she was able to spend more time with Jeyne. And right now, that was what she wanted.

She looks at her friend then and asks. “So how are things between you and Ser Edgen?”

Sansa knew that during their time within the walls of the Maidenvault, thoughts of Ser Edgen had kept Jeyne sane, and though she had despised having to hear about the man over and over again, now she was somewhat surprised at how little her friend had mentioned the man. Jeyne blushes, and says. “Things are good Sansa, I do not know really what more to say.”

Feigning exasperation, Sansa asks. “Well have you spoken with the man?”

Jeyne blushes furiously then. “Of course I have Sansa, many times.”

“And?” Sansa asks, feigning impatience. “How have those meetings gone? Is he trying to woo you?”

She marvels at just how deep her friend’s blush increases then. “I…I think so.”

“What do you mean you think so?” Sansa questions. “Either he is, or he is not. Which one is it?”

“I think he is, I mean, he speaks to me a lot, and he does all the things we hear about in the songs. I mean, surely that means he is trying to woo me right?” her friend asks.

Sansa thinks for a moment and then says. “Yes, I would think so.” She sees something similar to hesitation cross her friend’s face then and so she asks. “What is it Jeyne? You seem uncertain about something.”

Her friend hesitates for a moment and then says. “I am not sure whether I am as happy about that prospect as I once was.”

“What prospect?” Sansa asks. “The prospect that Ser Edgen might be courting you? Why?”

Jeyne bites her lip then, and the action is so reminiscent of Arya, that Sansa feels her heart lurch. “I am not sure, I just keep wondering if he is being sincere in doing so.”

“Because of what Lady Cerenna said?” Sansa asks. Her friend nods slightly, and Sansa sighs. “Jeyne you cannot take everything that lady says seriously. She was most likely trying to say something out of jealousy. You know what she is like. The Lannisters have little reason to be nice to us, with their mistress in a cell.”

Her friend looks at her surprised. “Why though? Surely with Queen Cersei in a cell, they would need to act nicely towards us, lest you whisper in the King’s ear?”

“Maybe once yes, but not now, now with Lady Margaery betrothed to the King, it is her who they shall have to whisper to. And besides, I do not think that Queen Cersei will remain in her cell for long.” Sansa says.

“But the King had her put there for a reason, none would dare free her without his permission.” Jeyne says.

Sansa looks at her friend and wonders how she can be so naïve, and then she realises, that until quite recently, she herself was like that. Shaking her head she says. “Lord Tywin is the hand now, and we both know what that man is like. I would not be surprised if he tried to bring her out of the cell with which she is inside of.”

Her friend looks surprised, but it seems that she has decided against pursuing that line of thought, for instead she asks. “And how are things between yourself and Lord Stark?”

It is Sansa’s turn to blush then. “Whatever do you mean?” she asks innocently.

Jeyne laughs and hits her arm then. “Come now Sansa, do not play coyly with me. How are things between you two?”

“I do not know.” Sansa replies honestly. “I have not really spoken to him about all that has changed between us.”

“Why not?” Jeyne exclaims.

“It is not my place to speak to him about that. He is the head of the house now, if he wishes to speak with me about it, then it is his place to do so.” Sansa says simply.

“Do you not want to know where you stand with him?” Jeyne exclaims.

“Of course I do.” Sansa snaps. “But it would not be right to simply go up to him and ask. For all I know he might well think things remain the same between us. Who would I be then, to come in and try and change that?”

“You would be a girl whose whole world has been changed Sansa.” her friend replies. “Surely you do not think remaining silent is going to do you or him any favours. I was there when the King made the announcement, it changed a lot.”

Sansa closes her eyes for a moment, she would like nothing more than to speak with Jon about this thing that is there between them, and the changes that have occurred, but she is not sure whether or not she should do so. It does not seem right to do so, and she really does not want to make things strange between them. “If he wants to speak to me about it, then he can.” She says simply.

“It seems that he might be about to do that.” Jeyne says, and Sansa opens her eyes, and looks where her friend is looking, and sees that before them stands Jon with Ghost at his side.

Both Sansa and Jeyne curtsey before Jon, and when her brother-she must remember that he is her brother- speaks, she feels something flutter within her. “Please there is no need for that. Now, if I might borrow Sansa for some time, I hope that is not inconvenient to you Jeyne?”

Her friend smiles, something she had never done to Jon before. “Of course not my lord.”

With that Jeyne breaks apart from Sansa and then turns and walks away, leaving Sansa and her brother alone with their two wolves. Sansa looks at Jon and he looks at her, and there is silence for a long time, and then her brother speaks. “I hope you can forgive the intrusion Sansa.”

“There is nothing to forgive, we were merely speaking.” Sansa says.

Sansa looks at her brother then, and she notes how much like their father he looks, he looks very handsome as well, very handsome, and she finds herself chastising herself for that thought. The silence has come once more, and in that time, Sansa finds herself looking over Jon, noting how his clothes seem to stick to him, not from sweat, but from the muscle that he has, she finds herself wondering what he looks like underneath those clothes, and she finds herself horrified at thinking such things. Jon speaks then, and she almost blushes. “I was wondering if we might speak about a few things Sansa.”

“Of course,” Sansa says. “What did you wish to speak about?”

Her brother looks around then before saying. “Perhaps we had best speak on the move, I do not want anyone over hearing us.” That seems a smart thing to do, and so Sansa takes the arm her brother extends to her, and they begin walking. There is a brief silence and then Jon speaks once more. “How are you finding things now? I hope everything is to your liking?”

Sansa knows that he must be referring to the change of rooms, she had moved from the Maidenvault to rooms a few doors away from her own brother’s rooms within the red keep, and had also had rooms set aside for her in the manor their family owns. She wishes he would speak about the emotions that she feels, but of course, how could he know? Clearing her throat she replies. “Everything is nice and comfortable Jon, I thank you for making the effort and for the thought, and it is very kind of you.”

“If you need anything else, just ask and it will be yours.” her brother replies. Sansa merely nods her thanks, and then waits for her brother to speak once more, there is clearly something on his mind. Eventually he does speak. “Sansa, I… I am sorry for your broken betrothal to the King.”

Sansa is silent for a moment, she was not expecting this to come up. “It is alright Jon.”

“No it is not, I know the King was slightly reluctant to break the betrothal, but still, breaking it for the Tyrell girl, that was not right.” Jon says.

Aware of the fact that though they are walking there are still people who might be listening Sansa speaks softly. “Jon, truly it is alright, it makes sense that he marry Lady Margaery after all she brings a big army with her, and I bring nothing. Not with Robb still fighting against the crown.”

She notes how Jon’s body tenses at the mention of their brother, and the rebel army that is still fighting under his banner. “I know. I do not know why Robb keeps fighting, or what he keeps fighting for. I have written to him many times trying to get him to see sense, and yet he does not respond.”

“Maybe he has not gotten your letters? It is possible that they have not been sent or, that they never reached him personally. His men might have thrown them away.” Sansa points out.

“Perhaps, or it could be that Robb simply does not consider it worth his while to respond to my letters anymore.” Jon responds, sounding very bitter. As if noticing her expression, he quickly says. “I am sorry, I should be burdening you with my worries.”

She stops then, and that forces Jon to stop walking as well. She looks at him and says seriously. “No, please Jon, we are family, we should be able to tell one another what worries us. I know that there is something else bothering you as well, so please tell me.”

She sees the tension in Jon’s body then, and notes how taut his muscles appear, his expression is guarded but then it relaxes, and he says. “I am sorry for the broken betrothal, but I am also sorry for the other things that have happened since the Blackwater Sansa, truly I am.”

Sansa looks at him surprised. “What are you apologising for Jon, nothing has happened to me.”

“I… the King named me Lord of Winterfell, he has taken Bran and Rickon’s rights from them, and he has taken your right from you as well. You should be Lady of Winterfell, not me. I am not a child of Eddard Stark.” her brother replies, sounding both bitter and mournful.

Sansa feels her heart lurch at Jon’s words, she puts a hand to his cheek. “Jon, you are a son of Eddard Stark, you always have been. And after what you did during the blackwater, I think you have more than earned the right to be named Lord of Winterfell. The King would not have given you the title, nor would he have legitimised you, if he had not thought you worthy.”

Jon still looks worried and torn. “I… it is not right.”

“Why? Why is it not right?” Sansa asks, her hand still on his cheek.

“Because…because…” Jon says trailing off then.

“It is the right thing to do, Jon, trust me please.” Sansa says softly.

“I am sorry for the broken betrothal.” her brother says again.

Sansa laughs softly. “That does not matter, my heart belongs to another man.”

“Who?” her brother asks.

She does not reply, instead she leans up and kisses Jon on the lips.


	61. Jon XX

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

“I am sorry for the broken betrothal.” Jon says once more, not sure why his heart is hammering, but knowing that the way Sansa is looking at him is not helping.

He hears Sansa laugh softly. “That does not matter, my heart belongs to another man.”

“Who?” He asks then his heart hammering even more.

She does not reply, instead she leans up and kisses him on the lips.

Jon feels so surprised by the action, that at first he does not respond, and then as his heart soars, he kisses Sansa back. Gods it feels good, so very good, he kisses her, and as his tongue moves out, her lips part and then their tongues are duelling for supremacy. He hears Sansa moan with pleasure, and something in him catches fire then, he has wanted this for so long, and now it is happening. He cups the back of her head, and deepens the kiss, he feels as if he is drowning, drowning in her, in her smell, in her taste, in her everything. He is not sure why he waited so long, and why he did not do this himself, and then an image comes to his head. Robb moving toward him waiting to strike him down, for this. He breaks the kiss then, and he looks at Sansa, realization at what has just happened dawning on him, alongside horror and guilt. Sansa’s cheeks are flushed, and she looks beautiful, but what they just did was wrong. She is his sister, his little sister. Jon looks at her, and he looks at her lips which are puffy from their kissing and then he takes a step back.

“I… I am sorry.” He hears himself say, his heart hammering loudly in his ears, Sansa can probably hear it as well.

“Why are you apologising?” his sister- his sister, that is what she is- asks. “We have done nothing wrong.”

Jon stares at Sansa dumbfounded by the words she speaks, how can she say that? How can she say that they have done nothing wrong? “I….we… Sansa we are brother and sister.”

A strange look crosses Sansa’s face then, and if it is possible, it makes her look even more beautiful than she already did. “You are my half-brother Jon.” his sister says.

Despite the words he is trying to get out, the words she said still rankle him. “That should not matter Sansa, we are kin, and we should not have done that.”

Sansa looks as if she is about to grow angry, and Jon feels his heart lurch then. “Says who? Tell me who says that we should not have kissed?”

Jon fumbles around for an answer, the Old Gods say nothing about brother and sister relationships, and in fact he knows that an old King of Winter married his sister to protect her from the Boltons, and yet, and yet. “The Faith of the Seven.”

He knows that that is a weak answer, and he can tell Sansa thinks so as well by how she laughs. “Come now Jon, neither of us follow the seven anymore. The Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries and none said anything about it. Our own family has wed brother to sister before, and uncle to niece. There is nothing wrong with a mere kiss.”

Jon stands there for a long time unsure of what to say, his heart is still hammering in his chest, and his blood is moving around very quickly, he can feel the proof of that in his breeches, and he feels mortified that Sansa might have seen that, might have felt that. He stands there for a long time and then says. “I… I do not know what to say Sansa.”

Sansa’s face soften then, and it makes her look very beautiful. “I know, neither do I Jon. But I am truly not sorry that my betrothal to the King is over. I have not felt the way about the King that I do about you.”

Though she speaks softly, Jon is still worried that someone might overhear them, he moves closer to her then, and whispers. “Why? Why do you like me? I am merely a bastard who has nothing to offer you.”

Sansa smiles, and Jon feels his heart soar at the sight of it. “Jon, you are the Lord of Winterfell by the King’s decree and you are his trusted friend. But that is not why I care for you, and feel for you the way I do. You are kind and caring, and you are a true friend and I love you. I really do Jon.”

Hearing the words being said aloud makes his heart flutter, and if this was anyone else before him, he would feel embarrassed about acting like a little girl, but it is not just anyone, it is Sansa, and gods he does not know what to say or do. “I…. I care for you as well Sansa. But I do not know if this is the right thing to do. You have just had your betrothal to the King broken, are you sure that you are thinking properly?”

He sees his sister pout then. “Of course I am. How many times do I have to tell you Jon, I do not care for the King the way I care for you. I have never cared for him in that way. Please, you have to believe me.”

Jon looks at her then, truly looks at her, and he cannot see any hint of a lie on her face, and once more his heart soars at the thought, and still his mind is protesting. “I…. I do not know Sansa. This, this, I need time to think.”

He hates how crestfallen and hurt Sansa looks then, and he leans down and kisses her once more. This time she pushes forward, and gods it feels so good, when she places her hands on his chest, he feels as if he might sing, or jump, or do something, but he does not know what. Eventually he breaks the kiss, and they both take deep gulps of air, as if they have been swimming, they have he supposes. He looks at her and then decides that perhaps now is not the best time to leave her alone, so he takes her hand and says. “Come with me, we should talk about this somewhere where we might be safe in the knowledge of what we are discussing.” He feels something in him mend a little at the fact that Sansa does not bat his hand away and instead walks with him back toward his room within the Red Keep, he knows that perhaps they should go to the manor, but right now that does not seem the right thing to do, it would raise far too much suspicion, and so they walk in silence through the hallways and toward his room. There are members of the city watch on guard, and men from the red and green cloaks on guard, Jon wonders briefly how Lord Tyrion is doing, he was badly wounded during the fighting Jon knows, and he wonders how the first council meeting with Lord Tywin will go.

He pushes all those thoughts from his mind as his rooms come into sight, and when he notes Jory standing guard outside, he nods to the man and then walks in, Sansa following behind him, with Ghost and Lady trailing after her. He brings her into the main room and stops short when he sees Lord Varys standing there waiting for him. His hand goes to his sword pommel, and then he stops, Sansa stops with him and Ghost and Lady come before them growling. “Lord Varys, what are you doing here?” he asks bluntly.

The master of whispers does not cut an intimidating figure, still Jon does not trust him. The man titters and then says. “I came here to speak with you because I have some information that concerns you as well as your sister, the Lady Sansa.”

Jon looks back at Sansa, and notes that their hands are still together, he does not know what to do, but he keeps it that way. “What information?”

The eunuch titters once more, and Jon finds his irritation growing slightly. “Might you ask your wolves to stop growling? I would feel more at ease then my lord.”

For a brief moment, Jon considers denying the eunuch his request, but then decides to acquiesce. “Ghost enough.” He hears Sansa say the same thing to Lady, and notes that she is now at his side, their hands still clasped together. Something about her presence at his side reassures him. He looks at the eunuch and notes that the man is looking at him curiously, trying to shake the feeling that the man is seeing something in him, he asks. “What was it that you said you wanted to speak with me about?”

The master of whispers is silent a moment and then says. “I have received word from my sources, that the Queen Dowager will try to make a move to have you and your sister imprisoned.”

Jon snorts then. “Using what source of power? Her allies have abandoned her, and the King has killed off her household.”

“Her Lord Father my lord. Lord Tywin is someone who has not taken kindly to his daughter’s imprisonment and your rise, and as such he might well begin looking to having you and your sister removed.” the eunuch responds.

“Under what charge?” Jon snaps.

“The crime of treason, he will argue that you have not been a loyal servant to the crown and have instead been feeding the King nonsense to poison him against his family, and that you have been feeding information from court to your brother.” the eunuch responds.

Jon is stunned by the stupidity of these accusations. “The King will not believe such nonsense. And besides, he has nothing on Sansa, she has done nothing wrong.”

The eunuch looks at him pityingly. “He will use Lady Sansa’s meetings with Ser Dontos has proof of these charges my lord. Lord Tywin wants his daughter out of the black cell and out at court. He wants to regain control of the King, and he can only do that with you and your sister gone.”

“So he will attempt to force the King into doing something which has no evidence and is wrong?” Sansa asks sounding outraged.

“Yes my lady.” the eunuch responds.

Anger is growing inside of Jon, he wants to shout and to curse, but he knows that showing any such emotion in front of the master of whispers could be used against him later on and so instead he asks. “Do you know what gave Lord Tywin this sort of justification?”

The eunuch nods. “Lord Baelish.”

“Baelish? Why?” Sansa asks sounding surprised.

“Because the man has hated our family since uncle Brandon defeated him in that duel they had for Lady Catelyn’s hand.” Jon says before the eunuch can speak. “How do you know it was him?” Jon asks then looking at the eunuch.

The master of whispers takes a scroll out from his robes and hands it to Jon. “Everything that you need to know is within that scroll my lord. It contains dates, names and places of use for Baelish.”

Jon feels his heart lurch at one of the names on the paper but pockets it before Sansa can see it and looks at her before looking at the eunuch. “Why are you telling us this?”

There is a moment’s silence and then the eunuch says. “Because you are loyal to the King, and there are few people who are like that nowadays. The King must have good council around him to survive this war and the coming storms. And because Lord Baelish must fall.”

Jon merely nods and says. “Thank you.”


	62. Margaery I

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lady Margaery Tyrell**

It was strange when she thought about it, her father’s desire to see her with a crown atop her head. She did not understand it, from what she had seen of Cersei when she had visited court once or twice when King Robert was still alive, being a queen did not seem to be anything enjoyable, and any power that it might give to the person, was minimal at best, and was completely dependent on how willing the King was to delegate authority to his partner. She had had a taste of being a Queen with Renly, but that seemed completely different, Renly had been a friend, but he had not visited her bed, their wedding night had been something else entirely. Loras had been there, but nothing had happened and she had left, left them to it. She mourned Renly’s passing, and she mourned the grief her brother felt, but there was nothing else to it. And now she was to marry Joffrey, she liked Joffrey he was a good man beneath the veneer, there was something there to him, a hunger that she could appreciate. And now listening to her father and grandmother she was not sure what to think exactly.

“The King will want to know why you have come here Margaery, you must tell him that you did not want to marry Renly, and that you were forced into doing it by him, and that he was a bad person toward you. You must make the King feel for you.” her father says.

Margaery is grateful that Loras is not here now, for she is certain that he would kill father if he heard the words that were being said. “Mace, you fool, saying such a thing is not going to make things better between the King and Margaery. And if you truly think that the King will believe that nonsense then you truly are an oaf.” her grandmother, Lady Olenna says.

Margaery hides a laugh behind a hand as she sees her father puff up, she knows that her father is actually reasonably smart, but he never uses his brain. “Mother, the King is a boy of thirteen namedays, if Margaery wants him to believe that, then she can make him believe that. For the love of the seven, the boy named a bastard as Lord of Winterfell.”

“Jon Stark has served the King with distinction and has earned his trust Mace. We supported Renly before and we took our time to get here. We arrived late to the battle. The King will not forget that.” grandmother says.

She sees how her father’s face grows redder at her mother’s words. “We only arrived late here, because Lord Tywin was not ready to march. We had to deal with some of Stannis’s men as well. The King knows that and he understands that.” her father says.

Margaery speaks then. “The King has made you think he understands that father. As you say he is a thirteen year old boy, he wears the crown and he has defeated the major challenge to his crown. He did that without our help, and now if I do or say anything that does not seem genuine he will not trust me.”

Her father looks at her exasperated, and Margaery feels some of the old anger she used to feel toward him return. “Then do as I say and the King will trust you.”

“You are not understanding the point Mace,” grandmother says. “The King is a child yes, but he clearly is not an idiot. He will see through whatever lie that you try and have Margaery tell him.”

“Then what would you have her say?” her father thunders.

“The truth, or at least part of the truth.” grandmother says.

Her father snorts in contempt at the suggestion. “Yes because that will really endear her to the King. Mother, I think you might be going senile in your old age.”

Margaery speaks then before her grandmother can say something that will only lead to another argument. “Father, I think you missed the point of what grandmother is trying to say. If the King asks about Renly, then yes, I shall say I married him because he asked for my hand in marriage. But I will not say that I willingly agreed to become his queen, nothing would be as foolish as saying that. I married Renly because I thought the match was a good one, as did you.”

Her father looks at her nonplussed. “You cannot seriously think that will work. The King would have to be a complete fool to believe that.”

“Mace, the King is not you. He would not believe some foolish notion that Renly forced himself on Margaery. He does not seem to have the urge to play the gallant knight. He is a King not a ponce. We would only be insulting him by telling him such a lie.” grandmother says.

Her father looks uncertain then, and she can tell that he is wavering between firmly objecting and agreeing with grandmother. Eventually he sighs and says. “Very well then, Margaery say what you think is appropriate, but remember, we have to make the King care for you. Otherwise we are done.”

At that Margaery feels her heart flutter. “What do you mean by that father?”

“Tywin Lannister does not trust us, he thinks we are nothing more than upstarts that we are trying to carve power from within and without. He has reluctantly agreed to my appointment to the small council as master of ships. I think he will try and get his daughter out of prison as well.” her father says.

That surprises Margaery. “He will try and undermine the King’s will? Cersei was put in a black cell for treason, if he undermines the King then the realm will splinter. Surely he sees that?”

Her grandmother laughs then. “Lord Tywin is not as smart as he thinks he is Margaery. He wants to keep a hold over the throne, and he wants the power that comes from the throne. He will never claim the throne himself, but he wants its complete obedience. If we have the King on our side we shall survive, if not we are finished.”

Margaery is shocked by this, everything she has heard of Lord Tywin has painted him as a man of even understanding not someone given to rash judgements, and now to be told this, well it certainly is something. As she digests this piece of information, something new occurs to her. “What of the Starks? Jon and Sansa are now in an interesting position with Jon being named Lord of Winterfell, what should we do about them?”

There is a moment’s silence and then her father speaks. “I think marrying Lady Sansa off to Willas would be a good thing to do, or looking to see if Lord Jon would agree to a betrothal with one of your cousins.”

Grandmother laughs then. “First become friends with Lady Sansa, Margaery, and then we can take things from there. The Starks are going to be very important soon enough, very important.”


	63. Theon II

**6 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Theon Greyjoy**

It was not right, he had heard nary a word from Asha or from their uncle Victarion, and the northmen were growing in numbers. The Umbers were raising a host of men to come and attack him, Rodrik Cassel was outside the gates of Winterfell now with an army, and there was word that an army was coming from the south as well. It was all too much, and none of his family seemed to even care, they did not seem bothered by the fact that they might well lose the key to the north. The fools, they were short sighted, he realised that now, so very damn short sighted, they would never advance beyond their own islands with his father in charge. Of course, the more he thinks about it, the less likely it seems that he will actually make it back to the islands, and that is something that both worries and thrills him. Perhaps now he will get to show them all just how true of an Ironborn he is.

He looks down at the ground, where Ser Rodrik Cassel and some one thousand northmen are mounted outside the walls of Winterfell and he calls down. “Give it up old man, you will never succeed.”

The old man bristles at that. “You managed to take Winterfell traitor, and if you can do it with twenty men, then I shall do it with my men. We are true honest northmen and I have lived in Winterfell my whole life, you shall not succeed. Surrender, and you might yet live.”

Theon bristles then. “You would dare threaten me. You, old man you forget yourself. I hold Bran and Rickon prisoner, but more importantly, I hold your daughter hostage.” He pauses then, and turns to one of his men. “Bring the girl up.”  The man nods and then walks down the stairs and then returns with the girl before him. Theon takes a hold of Beth Cassel, and presses a dagger against her throat. “Now, disband your army and return to Torrhen’s Square and perhaps I might, I might let pretty little Beth here live. If you do not, then she shall die.”

He can see the indecision hit the old man hard then, and a small part of him feels some small sense of satisfaction at that. “You would not dare.” The old man barks back then.

Theon laughs. “Come now Ser Rodrik, I know you are not a fool. I am the one who holds the castle, I hold the boys, and now I hold your girl. Do as I say, or she shall die.”

The knight bristles then. “Watch yourself boy. You might hold the castle, but I have more men and more knowledge of this castle than you ever could do. Now let my daughter go and come down from there so we might speak about this like real men.”

Theon laughs once more, marvelling at the foolishness of the old man. “Do you truly think me so stupid Ser Rodrik? I will not come down from here where I might dictate the terms of our discussion. After all it was you who told me to never give up the high ground. Now, stop your bickering and tell me, will you surrender?” He can see the hesitation in the old man’s eyes, and he pushes the dagger into Beth’s neck a bit harder, causing blood to be drawn, and causing the girl to cry out. “Come now Ser Rodrik think, use that brain of yours.”

Just as the old man seems about to reply, a voice calls out from somewhere beyond him. “Theon, enough of this. Stop this foolishness and put down the dagger.”

Theon is stunned, he knows that voice, he knows it very well. “Dagmar, what are you doing here?”

As if remembering about the old man, Ser Rodrik speaks, his voice filled with previously non-present confidence. “Ah, yes, I forgot to mention, we captured your uncle here. Now, tell me Theon, will you exchange your prisoners for mine?”

Theon feels something akin to pain roll through him, he knows that to give up now, for anyone would be seen as a sign of weakness, but this is not just anyone, this is Dagmar, the one person who stood by him, when both Asha and his father questioned him. He swallows nervously, aware of the eyes on him, then reaching his decision he barks out. “Gorm, get the archers ready.” He sees the man nod out of the corner of his eye, they might have ten archers in their company, but ten archers can do more damage to men on the ground who have no archers of their own.

“I am disappointed Theon, I thought Lord Eddard had raised you better than that.” Ser Rodrik chides.

His anger growing, Theon responds. “I am Ironborn, not a Greenlander.” And with that he slits the girl’s throat, just as Dagmar is cut down. The archers fire their arrows and chaos breaks out, Theon watches it all from atop the wall, watching as men fall and die, but he keeps his eye on Ser Rodrik waiting to see where that fool might go. As the battle progresses, Theon grows concerned that they might not win this, Rodrik Cassel is an old man, but he is not an idiot, he knows how to win. As if on cue, the sight of banners makes his heart sink further, the Boltons, they have come to aid their allies, and now it will end. But then something odd happens, instead of the Bolton men attacking his own men with their archers, they attack the men under Ser Rodrik, and as Theon watches this in surprise, he hears a familiar voice call out to him. “I told you I would bring support.” Theon sees Reek, now dressed in black as night armour, a savage look on his face, and he feels a fleeting sense of horror pass through him. Gods, what has he done? What has he unleashed onto the world?


	64. Jon XXI

**7 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

Jon found himself distracted, it happened a lot these days, ever since he and Sansa had had their little moment in the hallway, it was something that both troubled and excited him. He had never felt this way before about someone, it was not a passing fancy like what Theon had had for some of the girls in Winterfell, to Jon this was serious, this was honest, and it was his. All his, the looks they shared, the way he could make her blush so prettily, it was all his and by gods it was an intoxicating feeling. That Sansa, sweet, beautiful Sansa actually felt the same way he felt was something he was having difficulty understanding, and yet he was not going to question it. The thought of having her married off to someone else was unthinkable to him and yet he knew it was a real possibility, he knew as her guardian he would need to find someone for her to wed, but he was not sure he really wanted to. That Tywin Lannister was now here as hand was only serving to further his worries, especially after what Varys had told him and Jory had confirmed.

“Stannis Baratheon is dead Your Grace, that much is true and yet Dragonstone remains before us like a great unconquerable rock.” Tywin Lannister says, his voice deep and firm. “The men who hold Dragonstone, hold it for Stannis, and I do not think they will surrender lightly.”

 “Lord Paxter shall show them the man’s head then. That should convince them well enough. It has not rotted in the sun has it Jon?” the King says.

“It has not yet Your Grace. It is as if there is some sort of charm over it, preventing it from being torn apart.” Jon jests, the King smiles, but Jon notes how Lord Tywin looks at him disapprovingly.

“Regardless of the jests that Lord Stark makes Your Grace, serious consideration must be made as to what will happen to Dragonstone when it has surrendered. Will you name a Lord to it, or will it become part of the crown?” the hand asks.

Jon sees the King frown with concentration then, and he thinks to himself that Lord Tywin might well be trying to undermine the King, for there are some things about the man that Jon does not like, his manner of speaking for one. He makes demands where he should ask for things. Eventually the King says. “Lord Baelish how much does Dragonstone bring in through trade and from its tenants?”

“Very little Your Grace, not enough to really contribute to the paying off of the debt the crown owes the Iron Bank. Stannis managed to keep himself afloat through other exploits.” Baelish responds.

“You mean to tell me that Stannis Baratheon extorted money from trade ships?” Jon asks incredulously.

“Yes my lord, he had many deep and dark secrets, but in the end he was no different to anyone else.” Baelish responds smugly.

 _More likely it was you who did that you cur._ Jon thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “We learn something more disparaging and shocking about the man every day. But Your Grace, there is one thing that we have forgotten.” He pauses and then at a nod from the King continues. “The Lady Melisandre, she was what won Stannis his support in the stormlands, and she is supposed to be very formidable in her own right. I do not think she will surrender easily, and as long as she does not, neither will the garrison.”

He knows from having discussed the issue with the King beforehand, that the King agrees with him, and yet when the King goes to respond, Lord Tywin cuts in. “The woman will not be an issue. She is a woman after all, and if she has any sense in her head she shall surrender.”

Jon feels something akin to anger or irritation grow within him, and he notes that the King seems similarly annoyed. “Jon is right grandfather; the woman should be a concern. I will want her brought here for questioning.” The King says.

“Your Grace, are you sure that is wise?” Lord Mace asks, the man sounds terrified at the thought of seeing the Lady Melisandre, and Jon is not sure he understands why. “I was there when Renly was slain, I saw the damage that whore did. It would not be wise to keep her here.”

Lord Tywin speaks then, his voice filled with scorn. “You cannot truly tell me that you believe that nonsense Mace? The woman is exactly that, she is nothing more than a woman. She has no great power, and I will not have this council meeting turn into a discussion about things that do not exist.”

“I think you will find that it is I who controls what is and what is not discussed in the council meetings grandfather.” The King says then, his voice biting.

Lord Tywin inclines his head. “My pardons Your Grace.”

A moment of silence follows that then, and Jon can sense the tension within the room, he has not told the King about what Varys had told him, not yet, but he thinks that after this council meeting he might do just that. Tywin Lannister cannot be allowed to overrun the King or the King’s power. The silence stretches on and then the King speaks once more. “But yes, once Dragonstone has been taken it shall become part of the crown’s property. As for the Lady Shireen she shall be sent to a convent for the faith.”

“It would be easier to have her disappear Your Grace.” Lord Tywin says bluntly.

“She is a little girl, who is innocent of any crime her father might have committed.” Jon blurts out then.

Lord Tywin turns his cold eyes onto Jon and says. “She is a threat to the King so long as she lives.”

“She is also my cousin, my blood. She remains alive and in a convent. I am not a child killer grandfather.” The King says then his voice firm.

Jon can see the disapproval in Lord Tywin’s eyes, and he feels an old anger creep into him then. He then sees the King looking at him and knows what now needs to be discussed. “The war with Robb Stark is now winding down. The man remains within the Westerlands, burning and pillaging at will, whilst the Riverlords now have some breathing space due to your presence here my lord of Lannister. What prompted you to come here and abandon your post?”

He knows the words are really barbs, and he had been hesitant to speak so to Lord Tywin, but the King had encouraged him to, and so he had. As he looks at the man now, he sees something akin to cold rage burning in the man’s eyes. “I came because the capital was under threat.”

“And yet you took time to come here my lord. One might think you were waiting for the city to fall.” Jon replies. He does not know what makes him so bold, and yet he finds the King nodding in approval, whilst all else within the room look on in fervent interest.

“The Riverlords were trying to lure us into a trap. It took time to realise what was happening elsewhere within the realm, but once we did we came as quickly as we could.” Lord Tywin replies coldly.

Jon looks at the man for a moment and then turns to the King and says. “With Robb still within the Westerlands, and with Lord Tywin here, I think it will be obvious that sooner or later he will have to come back to the riverlands. The north is under attack and he has lost Winterfell, he cannot remain in the south now.”

“So then what would you suggest Jon?” the King asks sounding genuinely intrigued.

Jon thinks for a moment, thinking back to when he and Robb were boys and they would play fight in the grounds of Winterfell- a thought that still causes his heart to ache- and how Robb would always, always leave his damn side open to attack despite what father or Ser Rodrik told him. He looks at the map before them then, and says. “He is near the Crag now, he will most likely come back to the Riverlands through the Tumblestones and then to Riverrun, and from there to march back north he will follow the red fork or head straight crossing over the fork and through the whispering wood. That is the path he will expect to take through peace time, now that Lord Tywin is not there, the Riverlords who bent the knee might not remain true. I would suggest sending a host to the riverlands to wait for him, perhaps straight to Harrenhal, or perhaps following the Blackwater Rush, when Edmure Tully learns of the presence of an army in his lands he will hurry out to meet it, and then Robb will have to come and fight as well. That is when you get him.”

“And if your brother comes to know of this plan? What then?” Lord Tywin questions.

“He will not come to know of it, for none here will tell him of it.” Jon responds. “Unless you think there is a traitor here, my lord?”

Tywin Lannister looks at him for a long time, his eyes cold and his gaze piercing, but Jon stares at him as well, waiting and watching. Eventually the man speaks. “Nothing like that my lord. I was merely saying that if you can suggest such a plan, then your brother, who has known you your entire life, will most likely think of it as well.”

Jon thinks on this for a moment, and then he replies. “Robb will have many other things on his mind, he will not stop to think about this one thing.”

He sees Lord Tywin fall silent at this, and when the King speaks, he knows he has won this argument. “I agree with Jon, I want an army assembled and sent out into the Riverlands. Lord Tarly shall command the host.”

A moment’s silence and then Lord Tywin speaks once more. “Your Grace, there was one thing I wished to discuss with the council.” A pause and then. “It is regarding your mother, the Queen Dowager’s trial.”

Jon stares at the man suspiciously, wondering what he will say, the King sighs impatiently. “What about it?”

“I believe that the trial should be reconsidered.” The man says.

The King stares at him for a long moment. “Why?” the King asks then, an edge to his voice.

“I believe that you have been manipulated into producing a judgement that does not truly reflect the nature of what she did for you.” Lord Tywin says cautiously.

Jon sees the anger cross the King’s face, and he knows the words that will come out before they do. “What she did for me? She betrayed me, she tried to use some of my friends against me. She tried to have one of my friends murdered. I will not allow her to get away with that. She has committed treason and she shall suffer for it.”

“It could send a bad message to the realm Your Grace.” Lord Tywin says.

“I do not care.” The King roars then, sounding all the world like his father. “She betrayed me and she shall suffer for it. Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss grandfather, we are done discussing this.”

In the silence that follows, Jon sees a look of what seems anger and despair cross Tywin Lannister’s face, but he says nothing, no one dares say anything as the King calms down, and just as it seems he might say something the door opens and a messenger walks in bowing low before the King he says. “I am sorry to interrupt Your Grace, but a message has come from the north, for Lord Jon.”

All eyes turn to him and he feels his heart speed up then, wondering what it could be. “Well, what is it?” the King asks.

The messenger turns and calls out, his fellow messenger walks in carrying a cloth bag, a bag that smells, but as they place it on the table, Jon moves forward and opens it and recoils in horror at what he sees. A boy’s head alongside a wolf’s head. His brothers.

 


	65. Sansa V

**7 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

She was not sure quite what to think about some things anymore, she loved Jon, she truly did, with every fibre of her being, and yet there was still a small part of her that thought that this was wrong, that her feelings for him were wrong, that what they had done that day was wrong. She could not make herself stop feeling the way she did for him though, and she was terrified that she would wake up one day and be told by him that he did not feel the way she did, that he had merely been playing to her childish fantasies, for that was what it felt like sometimes. Gods she was scared, and she knew she shouldn’t doubt him, but it was hard not to. She loved him, and hoped that he loved her, but she did not want to be unsure, never again would she be unsure, she was determined to prevent that.  A knock on the door disrupts her thoughts and she calls for whoever it is to enter. Her heart quickens in her chest when she sees Jon, Ghost bounding into the room before him.

She gets up and curtseys. “My lord.” She says.

Jon looks at her a moment, and then says. “There is no need for that Sansa, please, have a seat.”

Something about the tone of his voice makes her do as he says immediately, worry begins to gnaw at her. “Is everything alright Jon?” she asks.

Her brother- for that is what he is, regardless of what her heart says- looks at her then, and she sees grief etched into his eyes, and she feels her heart drop then, fearing for the worst. Jon takes his time to respond, and when he does, his words are heavy. “There was a raven from the north today Sansa.”

“From Bran and Rickon?” she asks hopefully, she knows some of what has happened within the north, of Theon capturing Winterfell, of the Ironborn’s presence there, and it hurts her to know that her brothers are his prisoners.

“Yes,” Jon responds, his voice tightening then. “And no.”

“What do you mean Jon?” Sansa asks then, fighting to keep her voice calm, but not quite managing to.

She sees Jon take a deep breath, and the worry that had slowly been growing within her intensifies. “There was a message from Winterfell.” here Jon breaks off as if he is not sure of what to say. “Sansa, Bran and Rickon are dead.”

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, she slumps down in her chair then. “No, you cannot be serious. Tell me you are jesting Jon. Please tell me you are jesting, why would Theon do this?”

There is such sorrow in Jon’s eyes then, and she wants to scream at him, now is not the time for grieving, how much more can they take? “Because Theon is a traitor, and has always been a traitor. Because Bran and Rickon were a threat to him.”

She is grateful that his voice is not calm, that he has not managed to remain so unaffected by this news, that he can speak calmly. “How do you know for sure?” she asks.

A strange look crosses her brother’s face then, and she wonders at it. His words when he speaks are choked. “Sansa, you do not want to know, trust me, you do not want to know how I know.”

Anger shines then. “No, if you are telling me that our brothers are dead, I would know how you know.”

Jon closes his eyes then, and Sansa feels some of her anger disappear, whilst some of it only grows. “Their heads were sent in a package Sansa. Bran’s head and the head of his direwolf. They were wrapped in some form of wool I believe, there was blood everywhere, and his eyes were open.”

Sansa feels horror roll through her, but still she finds it hard to belief, her brothers cannot be dead, they just can’t be dead. “I…I want to see them.” she says.

“Sansa…” her brother says. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

“No, I wish to see for myself, I want to see my brothers one last time.” Sansa says firmly, though her voice shakes a little.

Her brother sighs. “Very well, come with me my lady.” They both stand and Sansa takes her brother’s outstretched hand, together they walk from her rooms to the burial room, a place deep underground, where previous rulers have been buried, she looks at Jon in question then and he responds. “The King suggested that they be kept here for the time being, until.” he trails off then, but Sansa knows what he means, until they have Winterfell again.

They enter the chamber then, and Sansa immediately feels a deep pall come over her, she feels lost and scared, her brothers are dead, but it does not seem real, it cannot be real, none of it can be real. To accept that it is real, means that they are dead, she did not come to see father’s body before he was buried as well, and she regrets that, that is why she has come here, to see her brothers, but she is not sure whether she wants to see them now. They come to the main chamber, and there before them on a slab are her brothers’ heads. She gasps then, Bran’s eyes are open, staring unseeingly at her, the sight is almost too much for her to bear, she stares at her brothers’ heads for a long time, and then when she cannot take anymore, she falls into Jon’s waiting embrace. As she cries and cries, she murmurs to her brother. “I want him dead, I want him dead.”

She feels a chill run through her when she hears her brother whisper. “I know Sansa, my love, he will be dead before the year is out, I promise you.”

 


	66. Theon III

****

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Theon Greyjoy**

The screams of the dying haunted him, they echoed within the chambers of his mind, taunting him, piercing screams that he knew not how to silence. He could not sleep, he could not eat, their eyes continued to stare at him, they continued to torture him with their accusations. Accusations which were justified, he was the worst of the worst, the biggest liar and cheat there ever was, and he was broken. He held Winterfell, but he did not hold it, he could never hold it, not now, not with them gone. Darkness consumed him, and the men before him stared at him with hatred and loathing in their eyes. Luwin was gone, dead, broken, and there was something else as well, something dark and sinister about the whole affair that he did not know what to make of. He felt as if he was drowning, drowning in a sea of his own sin and guilt. It was wrong what he had done, and still he had done it, and now he had to live with it.

The man- beast more likely- before him snaps his fingers and Theon comes to attention. “My prince, are you listening?” the man asks, his voice mocking.

Theon feels anger grow within him, but still he knows what will happen if he does not respond. “Sorry, what were you saying my lord?”

The man looks at him with something akin to distaste, his voice is filled with barely controlled rage when he says. “I was saying that if you wish to truly control the north, you will need to deal with the threats facing it.”

Theon looks at Ramsay Snow and sees a menacing look on his face, he swallows nervously and then asks. “And what threats are those my lord?”

Snow snorts then. “Why, the squids who sit in Moat Cailin as well as Deepwood Motte my prince. If you want the northmen to come to see you as their rightful prince, then you must act like it. Allowing the squids to remain within the fortresses mentioned would something similar to suicide.”

The words come from Snow’s mouth, but Theon thinks he can hear Roose Bolton in them. He finds himself remembering exactly what it was that he had heard about the Boltons and he finds himself cursing his stupidity, he does not know what prompted him to allow the Boltons through the gates- well that is a lie he does know, but by the gods does he regret it- Snow is looking at him expectantly then, and so he sighs and says. “Of course my lord, you are right. So how would you suggest I deal with them?”

Snow laughs then and responds. “Why with manipulation of course. You send word to them asking for aid, and then you shall destroy them.”

“All of them?” Theon enquires.

“All of them. Allowing a single one to remain would be catastrophic for your reign my prince, you cannot allow that, surely you see that?” Snow asks, his voice making him sound surprised, but in reality Theon thinks that he is trying to bait him.

Fighting the urge to snap back, Theon nods. “Of course my lord. Will men from the Dreadfort be aiding me in these endeavours?”

Snow is silent for a moment, and then responds. “Some will be accompanying you of course, but not enough to raise suspicion. Now tell me my prince, how would you deal with the Ryswells and the Dustins?”

Theon looks at the man surprised, this was not what he thought they would discuss, but then again he is quickly coming to understand that Ramsay Snow is not predictable whatsoever, and that is what is making it even harder for him to break free from the yolk of oppression he feels. As he can see the man growing more and more impatient he quickly replies. “I would crush them. I am their prince; I shall not allow anyone to come against my rule.”

“And what of your family? How would you deal with them?” the bastard of the Dreadfort asks.

Theon is silent for a time, hesitant to answer, thinking through what it is exactly he will say, he does not want to put Asha into any difficulty, but then he remembers that she did not exactly try and come to his aid when he needed her, when he asked her to. Bitterness makes him speak. “I would trick them, and I would destroy them. I would draw them away from the water that they consider their home, and then I would end them.”

A strange smile creeps across the man’s face then, and Theon feels a deep sense of unease cross over him, he wonders just what might happen if he hits the man and runs now. As he thinks through it, he realises that such a thing would never come to fruition, he would be dead before he could even get to the door. “Good, good, very good. So tell me my prince, what do you want to see next?”

“My lord?” Theon asks curiously, with a growing sense of fear inside of him.

“What do you want to see next? I have shown you my girls, and I have shown you the boys that are working for us within the north. Tell me what do you want to see next?” Snow asks.

Theon hesitates for a moment and then replies. “I have seen more than enough my lord. There is nothing specific that I can think of for me to see.”

Snow stands up then, and so Theon does as well, fear making him nervous. “Well I have something to show you, come with me my prince.” Even if he wanted to resist, Theon does not think he would be able to, Snow is strong despite his apparent lack of muscle, and as such Theon finds himself being dragged out of the solar, down the steps and into the part of the castle that few ever go to. As they continue walking, Snow’s breathing becomes more rapid, more excited, and Theon feels fear pulse through him. Eventually they come before a room, and Snow stops turning to him. “As a reward for your service, see this.” He pushes the door open, and Theon nearly throws up at the smell that hits him, and then he sees the figure lying curled before him, and he screams.

 

 


	67. Cersei V

****

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Her cell was cold, and damp. None had been to visit her since that woman had come with her infuriating talk of lies and treason. She knew not what had happened, though she suspected that Stannis had not won, she would not be alive if the man had won. Cersei had never thought to pay attention to Stannis, it had always been Renly who had concerned her, Robert’s favourite blood brother, the one who she had thought most resembled him in both thought and action. She knew enough about Stannis though, enough to know that had he won, her death would’ve been the first thing on his list. Her crimes in his eyes were endless, and she suspected it went back to that day long ago, long before the rebellion when she had dared to spurn him, she would laugh, but she does not want to be thought mad. There are mad people here, and she does not want to become one of them. The witch’s words came back to her now, and she tried to push them away, she did not want to be confronted with those words now, not now, definitely not now.

“You cannot ignore her warnings Cersei.” A voice says, and for a moment Cersei thinks she is imagining it, but then there is a shadowed figure before her, and she groans in fear. “She spoke truly you know, she said the things she thought would happen.”

“But they have not happened. Joffrey still sits the throne, and Tommen and Myrcella are safe.” She snaps.

The shadow laughs, a brittle sound, a deep sound at the same time it terrifies her. “And how do you know that Cersei Tywinsdotter? Do you know the man who sits the throne now?”

“He is my son! I would know if he was dead!” Cersei snarls.

The figure holds up a hand, and Cersei sees bone and shadow, it scares her. “Peace, I have not come here to argue with you Cersei. I have come here to talk with you, to discuss certain things that are owed to me. What is it your family is known for saying?”

“A Lannister always pays their debts.” Cersei mumbles, fear growing within her.

“Exactly.” The figure replies.

“I have no debt with you, be gone from here.” Cersei pleads.

The figure chuckles then. “Ah child, you have forgotten have you? I knew you would, even though she said you would not. Very well let me remind you.” The figure moves toward her then and presses a shadowy hand to her forehead, before she can protest, visions come before her.

A girl standing before a crone, hearing the words that would shape her destiny for the next two decades, a girl watching her prince win and win and win, and as he laid the laurel wreath atop her head. Cersei watched the girl blush and blow a kiss to her prince, and she felt her heart grow taut with worry. The vision changed then, a girl crying, being told that the prince was not hers, that the King was a bitter man who would rob her prince of his bride. Tears, more tears as a girl hears about the prince marrying a brittle maid, swearing vengeance, her father making a promise, she would be Queen, never mind who sat the throne, she would have her birthright. Bodies, war, chaos, all around, and her brother golden in the chaos of it all, true and truer, they glimmered in the light. A woman now, praying before a statue shrouded in mystery and darkness, a gift, a promise. The figure removes their hand from her forehead and Cersei gasps.

She looks at the figure then, realising who it is, terror growing within her. “I…. I…my debt is not owed just yet. You said! You promised.”

“I promised no such thing, the debt was to be collected at my pleasure. And I have come to collect it. Now will you give it, or not?” the figure asks. Surprise must show on her face, for the figure laughs then. “You did not think that there would be a choice? Cersei, I always give choices to those who pray before me. Now, will you give it to me or not?”

Cersei stares at the figure, trying to deal with the realisation of what this figure before her is. “What will happen if I refuse?” she asks, though she thinks she already knows the answer.

“Then there will be untoward destruction and chaos, and I will make it my life’s work to ensure that her words come true. You understand what that will mean?” the figure asks.

Before she can respond, she sees the image of chaos before her, brother killing brother, father killing son, mother killing daughter. And there before them all, a sparrow, whispering into the ear of a sleeping dragon, planting the seeds of destruction as fires burn all around them. A spider dances before them all then, and a lioness chained and tortured, no one in sight. The vision shifts, and she is in her cell once more, the figure before her looking at her intently. “Why? Why does it have to be that way?”

“Because father has made it that way. Changing it now would bring far too many complications to the world that he would not want to deal with.” The figure replies.

“So you would allow your father dictate the terms?” Cersei asks mockingly.

The figure stiffens, and then snarls. “I made changes when I gave your son those powers. Now will you give me what I want or not?”

Cersei feels fear run through her, she knows the power of the figure before her, she wonders how she could ever have forgotten it, reluctantly she nods, and takes the ring from her hand, the ring that her mother gave her once long ago. She gives the ring to the figure, and then says. “I do not have a knife.” As soon as she finishes saying that, the figure gives her a knife, and after a moment she takes a deep cut out of her hand and allows the blood to drip onto the ring. That done she looks at the figure and asks. “Now what?”

The figure looks at her and says nothing, and a choking sensation engulfs her. The world blackens and her nightmares come true.


	68. Hooded Man

**8 th Month of 299 A.C. Volantis**

**Hooded Man**

It was always busy within Volantis, the black walls kept out the filth, and allowed the nobility to remain strong and pure. The people outside of Volantis thought that there were no nobles within the old ancient city, but they were fools, fools who bought the lies that they were fed, that the people of Volantis allowed them to be told. The reality was much, much more complicated and dark, for Volantis was the last bastion of Valyria, and as such it was its duty to harbour the glory and the ambitions of the empire until the time was right for dragons to grow once more. He had served for some time, allowing his years to go by in black and then gold, and then black again, but it would be worth it, of course it, there was nothing there to stop it from happening. The world had been turned upside down in years gone by, but the time was coming for it to righten once more, it was soon to be justice for all. The years of slaving away in the pits, on the frozen fields, it would all be worth it in the end, he was sure of that.

The palace was a grand one, as was befitting for someone of noble blood, but it was a superior palace to that of the true rulers of Volantis, and that was only fitting as the occupants were blood of the dragon, they were from ruling stock, and they were gods. He felt honoured to be working for them, to have been asked to work for them for as long as he had, and he hoped that they would not forget him when the time came. He nods to a guard on the door who announces him, and when summoned inside, he walks slowly, for he knows that the man he is going to see does not like quick walkers, the years had made him cautious. He stops short of the throne on which this man sits and bows. “I have come just as you requested Your Imperial Majesty.”

There is silence for a moment, and he knows not to speak, for he knows that the man sitting before him does not like being interrupted when he is thinking. Eventually, the man speaks and his voice is calm. “Much has happened since you were last here old friend, the girl has moved from where she was, and is now conquering on the east. She is doing things that she should not be doing.”

He is surprised by this, and thinks that the girl is being led by fools, that man Mormont should have been killed a long time ago, but the man in front of him had declared that he would remain alive. “I…I am sorry for that Your Imperial Majesty, I did not think Mormont would let her get out of hand.” He pauses then, for the man before him has held up a slender hand.

“It was not your fault, you were right in suggesting Mormont should have died, he will die soon enough.” The man says.

He waits then, uncertain over whether or not he can continue speaking and when the man before him nods, he does continue. “However, I bring good news from the west. It seems that the Iron Bank is preparing to launch an offensive using the Faceless Men against Joffrey Baratheon, for it seems that the boy refuses to pay his debts, and they are growing ever more mountainous as the days’ progress. Furthermore, the boy has his mother in a cell, and there are rumours he means to put her to death.”

“Ah, the Baratheons, they were always so willing to fight themselves. My father spoke of the time they rebelled against his father, and well, you know how that story ends don’t you. So tell me, what else is there?” the man asks.

He takes a moment to think on what the man before him would want to know and then he says. “Robb Stark continues to destroy Tywin Lannister’s position in the Westerlands, the more castles he takes, the more prestige he gains, and the less prestigious Lannister looks. I have heard whisperings that the man might well be arrested by his grandson as well.”

“Make sure those whisperings intensify. I want the old man dead before this all begins; do you understand?” the man before him asks.

“I do Your Imperial Majesty, it shall be done.” He replies.

“Good, now what more do you have?” the man asks.

“It seems that the north has fallen into decay,” here his voice tightens a little, the anger he feels is raw, but he is not sure whether or not conveying that now would be good, the man before him does not appreciate anger. “Greyjoy and Bolton are working together it would seem, and soon enough there will be more war within the north.”

“I am sorry for that, I truly am. Greyjoys have never been the most trusted of men, that much I can assure you of. They will get their dues when the time comes. And this Bolton fellow, he is Roose’s son?” the man asks.

“Yes Your Imperial Majesty. I believe he is the bastard son of Roose Bolton. Though there is some confusion over whom exactly his mother was. There were times when I thought she might have been one of ours.” He replies.

“It is possible someone did go missing and never return around the time the bastard must have been conceived.” The man replies.

He nods and then asks. “What do you wish to do about this information Your Imperial Majesty?”

Silence falls for a moment and then the man replies. “I want more information to be gathered before I act, and I want the men ready to march.”

“It shall be done Your Imperial Majesty.” He replies.

“Oh and one more thing.” The man says.

“Yes Your Imperial Majesty?” he asks.

“When we land, you shall have your revenge Benjen, I promise you that.” The King says.

 


	69. Tyrion VII

**9 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

It felt good to be able to move slightly, even if he was confined to his chair most of the time, at least he was no longer a prisoner of his bed, unable to move at all. The battle of the blackwater had happened some three moons ago, and he had only recently been declared fit enough to move from bed, it was frustrating, much had happened since he had last been able to move, and it was frustrating having to come to terms with the changes and his loss of power as Hand. His father had quickly come in and taken control, but was at loggerheads with the King, which always made Tyrion feel warm inside, however, there were things from the battle that still troubled him greatly, and he was not sure he knew what more to expect. The attack on him for starters had been something that had kept him up at night, those first few nights when consciousness had returned to him. It was a burning feeling knowing someone had tried to have him killed, it could have been Cersei, it could have been someone else, he was not sure, but he was determined to find out.

Of course, he could not dwell for too long on such a matter, for the King and his right hand, Jon Stark had come to meet with him and as such he needed to be thinking long and hard for what they were going to discuss. As is only right, it is the King who speaks. “It is good to see you up and out of your sick bed Uncle. Truly, there has been much that has happened recently, and your council has been much missed. You are feeling well enough to have this discussion?”

“Yes Your Grace, I am thank you. I would not miss this chance for the world.” Tyrion replies sincerely.  He looks at Jon then and says. “My most sincere condolences for the death of your brothers. I know that that must be a heavy burden to bear, and the grief must be crushing.”

“Thank you my lord.” Stark says sincerely.

Silence falls for a moment as they all take some time to think of the innocent children who died at the hands of a squid. The King eventually breaks the silence. “Now, you must know some of why we have come here today to speak with you. Lord Tywin has assumed his position as Hand, but I continue to feel that he is trying to undermine my position as King.”

Tyrion is silent for a time, considering this, it does not surprise him that his father would be trying to undermine the King, Lord Tywin is not a man who likes sharing, and as such he would definitely try to keep ruling. “Has he done anything tantamount to treasonous Your Grace?”

“That is the thing, other than cutting down suggestions of men who are loyal to me, he has done nothing that would make me think that he is harbouring treasonous thoughts.” The King responds.

“Of course, I do not think Lord Tywin would dare do anything that was openly treasonous Your Grace, he is far too old and clever for that.” Stark says.

“Lord Stark is right Your Grace,” Tyrion says, he finds himself still marvelling at that turn of fortune for the man before him. “Lord Tywin is not a man who would ever dare deliberately provke the ire of the crown. He knows that his good fortune depends on remaining on good terms with you personally, however, he will do whatever it takes to remove any resistance to his plans.”

“That in itself could be counted as treasonous.” Stark says. “The fact that he would undermine those who merely want what is good for the King, so that he can push his own agenda, is something that is highly questionable.”

“Ah but you see my lord, my father thinks that he is doing what is best for the realm, by doing that. For you see he does not have a high view of anyone who is not a Lannister.” Tyrion replies.

“Then he is a fool, for working against those who have the crown’s best interests at heart is not productive to a good relationship with allies.” Stark says firmly. “If Lord Tywin cannot accept that, then he should not be serving as Hand of the King.”

“And if you were to say that to him, then he would point to the work that he did as Hand for Aerys, and how he kept the realm alive during that time, and how the crown is now millions in debt to him personally as Lord of the Rock. He has a hand hovering over the throat of the throne my lord of Stark, it will not be easy to remove him.” Tyrion replies, he looks at the King then and asks. “That is what you wish to do is it not Your Grace?”

“Yes it is. I do not want the man hovering over me as he did with King Aerys, or even with my father. He has far too much power, and this war will not end if he continues to exercise complete power, for he will never stop so long as there is a perceived threat to his legacy.” The King responds, sounding incredibly bitter.

Tyrion can empathise with the King, and so he says. “Tell me what it is that he has done exactly since becoming Hand Your Grace?”

There is a moment of silence as the King thinks through this question, and then the King responds. “He has increased the presence of red cloaks within the castle as well as in the city, he has made attempts to undermine Jon’s position within the council, he continues to suggest others to sit as master of laws, and he is replacing men within the city watch with men who report to him. Furthermore, he is replacing counters within the treasury with his own men. He says he does this to help the crown, but it is simply to grow his own power. And finally, he continues to insist that mother be freed from her cell.”

“And am I right in guessing that that is the heart of the matter?” Tyrion asks. “He insists on having Cersei removed from her cell and reinstated in her previous position, and you are rightly not happy with that. Is that correct Your Grace?”

“Yes, that is exactly the point. Mother committed treason when she made those plans, and I will not allow grandfather to simply come in and allow her to get off without any sort of charge being laid against her. The trial will take place, and if it comes down to it, her head will roll.” The King responds.

Tyrion feels something shift uneasily within him at the ferventness of which the King speaks of his mother’s trial, something there does not seem right to him, and yet he dares not say anything to contradict the King, for he is the King after all. “Of course Your Grace, but the question I have for you, is, how do you propose to limit my father’s power? People are looking between you two, and no doubt will try to play you off against one another for their own benefit.”

“If they do that, then they are no true subject of the King.” Stark says.

Tyrion looks at the titular Lord of Winterfell, surprised by just how naïve he still sounds, surely he cannot still think that everything is as cut and dry as that? Deciding against saying anything on that point he looks at the King and says. “I would suggest giving in somewhat to my father, nothing permanent of course, but agreeing to some of his suggestions, and then when the time comes, pushing him out. He will make things go that way, for father does not know when to stop, and as such, he will make his own bed.”

“How certain can you be of that?” the King asks, or rather demands.

“He did it with Aerys.” Tyrion replies. “The histories will tell you that Lord Tywin resigned before Harrenhal happened because Aerys was to name Jaime to the Kingsguard, but that is not how it happened at all. My father had done all he could to get Cersei married to Prince Rhaegar, and when that did not happen he did all he could to sabotage the marriage between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, Aerys found out and let us just say that there was a heated argument, and father was dismissed from King’s Landing.”

“Why did Aerys not just kill him? It was in his personality to do something like that is it not?” the King asks.

Tyrion laughs. “Well, it might be hard to believe it, but I do believe that Aerys had some fond feeling for father, they had been friends once before, and I think Aerys might not have wanted to kill him. Torture him yes, but not kill him. Still, father has shown before that he can go too far where Kings are concerned, he will do so again.”

The King considers this and then says. “Very well, we shall follow your advice, but I want you on the council Uncle. As an advisor for now, but later on when Baelish is dealt with as master of coin.”

Tyrion feels surprised at this. “Your Grace?” he asks.

“Yes, Baelish is not going to last for very long. Once the trial is done, so is he. I have had enough of listening to his prattling about loans and interest. I have enough reason to believe that he is plotting the downfall of the throne, and that is something I cannot allow.” The King responds.

Tyrion is surprised by this, he knows that the crown is deeply in debt to the Iron Bank as well as to the Rock, he also knows that Baelish has been doing something to make himself more affluent and appealing as a martial prospect, to certain noble ladies. His downfall would create a deep vacuum, and might well bring the Vale to war. He feels compelled to say as much to the King. “Whilst I can see the sense in removing Baelish, there will be consequences to this Your Grace. Consequences that I am not completely sure the throne could recover from.”

“The debt we owe to the Iron Bank is the only pressing concern that his removal would bring to my mind. And that itself will be sorted once this war is one.” The King responds.

“And how will that happen Your Grace?” Tyrion asks. “The crown’s coffers are nearly empty, and Robb Stark is plundering through the west still, taking resources that could be used.”

“We control half of the Riverlands, and the lords who have re-sworn their allegiance have promised to contribute funds to the treasury, furthermore, with Stannis dead and Dragonstone now under our control, we have access to the items of value within that castle. Trade with the free cities is now more easily done, we shall have money coming in, enough to pay off our debts.” The King says confidently.

Tyrion thinks on this, and the more he thinks on it, the more sceptical he becomes, there is something the King is not telling him, something that would naturally make him so sure of what he is saying. For though what he says makes some sense, there is something else that would be needed to make sure that it is completely secure. Deciding that he shall leave it to the King, he changes the topic. “And, what would you wish for my role to be, before Baelish is brought down?”

There is a long moment of silence, and then the King speaks, his voice filled with determination. “I want you to find ways to make sure the decision of my mother’s trial sticks, and furthermore, I want you to find out what it was my mother was looking into before she was arrested. I want to know what it was, and I want it found.”

His curiosity piqued, Tyrion bows his head. “Yes Your Grace.”

 


	70. Jon XXII

**9 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The conversation he had been privy to as a member of the King’s inner circle, alongside Lord Tyrion had been an enlightening one. The King was searching for something, something that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands, something that the Kings of old had owned once before, before it had disappeared with the coming of the dragons. Jon felt privileged to be privy to such information, but he knew that there were risks involved, Bryce had been assaulted on his way back from a tavern just two days ago, and the people were growing somewhat restless, or at least those elements that favoured the Sons of the Dragon. Jon knew that was why the King had decided to make his mother’s trial a public event, there were people crowding into the Dragonpit now to hear what would be said, and as master of laws, Jon was overseeing the trial, it made him feel very nervous. He did not want to mess this up.

He looks through the throbbing crowds and sees Sansa there, looking like a goddess, in a blue dress with her hair down, flowing behind her, she smiles at him when she sees him and he feels his heart soar, things have been good between them, but there is still an element of tension between them. He smiles back, and then looks away, and looks at his fellow judges, Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King as well as Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden are his fellow judges. Tywin Lannister cuts an imposing figure, and Jon thinks that the man might try to intimidate him into giving a favourable judgement, but he is determined to hear all the evidence before making a judgement. Clearing his throat, he speaks. “My lords, ladies, people of King’s Landing, please have a seat.” There is a great lot of movement then, as people move to take seats or sit on the benches in the ruins of the Targaryens greatest building. When they are all seated he speaks once more. “We are here today, for the trial of Queen Dowager Cersei Baratheon. There will be evidence presented for the crimes she has committed as well as a chance for her to prove her innocence. Bring the defendant forward.”

There is a lot of whispering then, for the gold cloaks bring forth the former Queen, she looks bedraggled, even though she has been dressed appropriately, she looks beautiful as well, but it is a harsh beauty, nothing compared to Sansa’s. She is brought to a stop before the three chairs on which Jon and his fellow judges sit. Jon looks at her, and sees pure hatred in her eyes. Clearing his throat once more he speaks. “You know why you are here my lady, you will have the chance to answer any claims made by the accusers, now do you understand what is to happen?”

“Yes.” The woman replies, her voice hoarse.

“Very well then.” Jon responds. He pauses for a moment, to collect his thoughts and then calls out. “Ser Edgen, as chief justice under the crown, it is your duty to present the evidence for the crimes the accused has been accused of committing. Do so now.”

Ser Edgen, a tall man, with flowing hair, comes forward then, bowing before all three judges, Jon knows that he has been courting Jeyne quite seriously for the past few moons, and he seriously expects to get an offer for her hand soon enough. Jon does not really know the man, but he does not trust him, on instinct. He is far too confident for what he is. The man raises himself up then and begins speaking. “My most honourable lords, I thank you for giving me this chance to present evidence of a most grievous sin done to our King.” A pause, for dramatic purposes and then he continues. “The witnesses I have brought here today, are those who spoke and interacted most closely with the Queen Dowager over a period of five moons, and knew her plans almost intimately. The first witness is Ser Osgood Waters.”

The man comes before the three chairs, and bows, he looks like what Jon imagines a Targaryen would look like, with his silver hair and violet eyes, a dragonseed no doubt, and someone Jon immediately mistrusts. Still, the man speaks clearly and firmly when questioned. “I was part of her retinue, a gift from the King to Her Grace when they were married. I served in her household for some time.”

“How did you avoid the purge of her household?” Jon asks.

“I hid my lord, I fled back to my keep and then returned when I was asked to by Ser Edgen, when he had found me that is.” The man responds.

“And what exactly did you do for her?” he asks.

The man takes a deep breath then speaks. “I was her messenger, I went between her and some of her other sources and passed over information and advice that she wanted me to give to them. Furthermore, I gathered information for her, I would go to taverns and drink with men who were working for your Lord father, and I would pass this information onto her.”

Before Jon can ask why, Ser Edgen asks the question. “And why did you do this?”

“Because, she wanted information to help her bring down Lord Eddard Stark. Queen Cersei did not trust him and believed that he was a threat to the security of the kingdoms.” The man responds.

“And why would she think that?” Ser Edgen asks.

Jon looks at the man intently then, wondering what he will say. Ser Osgood hesitates for a moment and then says. “She believed that the man would try and use his grudge against her and the Lannister family to place his own men around her son, and that he would lead to a reign of corruption and destruction that would undo the work that her husband King Robert had worked so hard for.”

Jon has to hide his contempt behind a raised hand, and he listens as Ser Edgen asks. “And how true did you find her fears to be Ser?”

“They were baseless, Lord Eddard never spoke of removing her or giving bad advice to the King, he merely wanted to do the right thing.” Ser Osgood responds.

Jon looks at the man, and he feels as if the man is holding something back, he is not sure what, but there is a deep seated feeling within him that the man is definitely holding something back. The Queen Dowager speaks then, her voice sounding outraged. “Tell them the whole truth you cur.”

Jon looks at her and says. “You will have your chance to respond in a moment my lady, for now please remain silent.”

He expects the woman to respond, but instead all she does is glower at him. Ser Edgen continues his questioning. “So Ser Osgood, what else did the lady before you ask you to do?”

Osgood makes a big show of disgust. “She made me sleep with her. She said that if she could not have her husband then she would have me. And she said that if I told anyone else then I would be finished. I know she slept with Ser Lancel.”

“So you slept with her, and then what?” Ser Edgen asks.

“When we were lying in bed together, she would speak of how she would remove Lord Stark, the man who sits before me now. She said that he was a threat to the safety of her sons and daughter, and that he needed to be removed.” Ser Osgood responds.

“And what made her think that Lord Jon was such a threat to her family?” Ser Edgen asks.

Ser Osgood looks at him directly then, and then looks at Ghost who sits at his side, and says. “Because he has a wolf, a wolf who is a untamed beast, not a pet. Furthermore, she believed he is exactly like his father, and since she thought that the father was a threat, then the son would also be a threat.”

“So she wanted to remove Lord Jon for nothing other than what appears simple paranoia?” Ser Edgen asks.

Jon sees the lady bristle at that suggestion, but she keeps her mouth shut. “Yes.” Ser Osgood responds.

“Very well, you are dismissed.” Ser Edgen says, Ser Osgood stands, bows before them and then blows a kiss to the lady before departing.

Jon keeps his thoughts to himself, but he thinks that that was a mightily unseemly gesture, he looks at his fellow judges, Lord Tywin is sitting in stock silence, whilst Lord Mace looks deeply uncomfortable. “Who is your next witness?” Jon asks then to break the silence that is growing deafening.

“Grand Maester Pycelle my lord.” Ser Edgen responds grinning like it is his nameday.

There is a lot of murmuring at that, and by the look on the Queen Dowager’s face, Jon knows that her fate will be sealed with whatever words the man says. “Bring him forth then.”

The old man hobbles forward then, and bows before the three judges, and then he begins speaking unprompted. “All I did, I did for the greater good of the crown my lords. I did not think that things would go so far. My Lord of Lannister, I did what I could to rein in your daughter, but she did not listen to me.” Jon sees anger flash across Cersei’s face then, and a part of him takes deep satisfaction from seeing that. “When she came to me with her thoughts on Lord Jon, I was hesitant to aid her, for I know that Lord Jon is a good friend of His Grace the King, and I know that the King is a sound judge of character. Lord Jon did nothing to harm the crown, indeed he did all he could to benefit the crown. Queen Cersei however, was convinced that Lord Jon was doing these things for some other material or external benefit. Nothing I argued could sway her from her course.”

The man is panting heavily when he finishes, and Jon stares at him unsure of whether or not to believe the drivel that is coming from his mouth, but before he can ask a question Lord Tywin speaks, his voice harsh. “And you did not come forward to speak with anyone about this? Why?”

The Grand Maester seems to shrink before Lord Tywin’s gaze, and his words are stuttered out. “I…I…I was sure I could control it my lord…. I thought I could make her see reason…. I thought that it would be easy enough to do so…. she is only a woman after all.”

“And yet you failed to do so, and now we are here.” Lord Tywin says.

Jon looks at Lord Tywin then, but he cannot see any change in the man’s facial expression, though Jon thinks that there is some anger within his voice, he cannot be sure. Turning back to Pycelle, he hears Lord Mace ask a question then. “And what methods did Lady Cersei say she was going to use to bring down Lord Jon, and use to harm the King?”

Pycelle looks distinctly uncomfortable then, and Jon finds himself saying. “You are to speak the truth, the whole truth Pycelle remember that.”

The man bows his head. “Of course my lord.” He hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “She said that she would find any information she could to suggest that Lord Jon was communicating with his brother, the traitor Robb Stark, and where she could not find information she would fabricate it. Furthermore, she planned on having Lord Jon killed, during either a staged riot, or when he was travelling through the city. There were some attacks on your person that failed my lord, and that is because I did what I could to prevent them from happening.”

Jon feels slightly stunned at this, so she was behind that attack with the bodies, anger grows inside him then, but he keeps silent. Ser Edgen speaks then. “And what else did she say she would do? Surely just going after Lord Stark is not the only reason you came and spoke with the King?”

“Yes,” Pycelle says nodding. “She was looking for something, something that she could use to wrest control away from the King and give to herself for herself. She wanted to take complete control away from the King and give it to herself.”

Before Ser Edgen can question Pycelle on what this thing is, Jon speaks. “Thank you Maester Pycelle, that is all. You may go.” The man rises, bows and then hobbles off. Jon looks at Ser Edgen and says. “You are dismissed Ser.” The man bows and then walks off. Jon feels the eyes of his fellow judges on him when he looks at the Queen Dowager. “Now, is there anything you would like to say in response to these allegations?”

Silence greets his question, and as it stretches on he wonders if the Queen Dowager will even speak, finally she does, but the words are not a denial as he had expected instead she says. “I did what I did for love of my son, if that makes me a criminal then fine, have off with my head. But know this, there is someone within the capital who is much worse than I am, and I know that you especially would want his head on a spike Stark, so before you pass judgement, think on that.”

Silence falls then, and Jon looks at the Queen Dowager, and she looks at him, eventually he asks. “And who might that be?”

The woman snorts. “Petyr Baelish, but of course you already knew that.”

Jon looks at the woman and then asks. “And what makes you say that?”

“Everything.” She replies.

Jon stares at her, and then looks past her to where the King stands in the shadows, Jon sees the King nod slightly, and so he says. “Very well, I will hear what you have to say my lady. And make sure to not leave anything out.”

 

 


	71. Cersei VI

****

**9 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Before Ser Edgen can question Pycelle on what this thing is, Lord Stark speaks. “Thank you Maester Pycelle, that is all. You may go.” The man rises, bows and then hobbles off. Stark looks at Ser Edgen and says. “You are dismissed Ser.” The man bows and then walks off. Cersei sees her father and the fat flower staring at Stark, and she feels his eyes on her. “Now, is there anything you would like to say in response to these allegations?”

Cersei is silent for a time, considering his question, all that has been said so far in this trial has angered her beyond belief, that Pycelle had betrayed her like that, is something she will not forget quickly, and she swears to herself that she shall make him pay. Eventually, she replies.  “I did what I did for love of my son, if that makes me a criminal then fine, have off with my head. But know this, there is someone within the capital who is much worse than I am, and I know that you especially would want his head on a spike Stark, so before you pass judgement, think on that.”

Silence falls then, and Stark looks at her, and  she looks at him, eventually he asks. “And who might that be?”

Cersei snorts then, hardly believing that this man is master of laws. “Petyr Baelish, but of course you already knew that.”

Stark looks at her, and she can see something like contempt in his eyes, it angers her, and then asks. “And what makes you say that?”

“Everything.” She replies.

Stark stares at her, and so he says. “Very well, I will hear what you have to say my lady. And make sure to not leave anything out.”

As she hears his reply, Cersei thinks about what she will say now, she knows that Baelish is in the Dragonpit, she can quite literally smell him from here, an odd sensation that. The mockingbird is the man’s sigil, but a rat would be more appropriate. She thinks through all that she knows about the man, every scrap of information that she has learned about him over the years, and every piece of dirt she has gathered and then she smiles and begins speaking. “Do you know how Petyr Baelish got his position here in King’s Landing my lords?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tyrell asks, and Cersei could laugh at how her father glowers at the man.

“Almost everything, without this piece of information, you will not be able to see the web this man has spun.” Cersei responds.

“Continue then.” Stark says, and Cersei can sense the impatience in him, he is just like his father in that.

“Well, he was, as I am sure you are aware my lord of Stark, a ward of Lord Hoster Tully at Riverrun, and grew up with Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa, as well as Ser Edmure. He became good friends with all three of them, and as such, it was through Lady Lysa that he managed to get an appointment as master of customs in Gulltown, and when he proved to be good at his job there, it was Lady Lysa who once more suggested him as a replacement as master of coin to her husband.” Cersei says, starting to form the pattern and the merest hint of a suggestion as to where she might be going, from the way he is sat, she can tell her father is intrigued and is listening intently. The pit is silent, and Cersei smiles at that thought, that she has an audience listening to her every word. “When he arrived here in King’s Landing, he was a nobody, he was just an upstart who had proven good at what he was doing, and yet within the first few months of him being here, he had managed to increase crown revenues some five fold, despite there being an increase in debt as well. This process, I have noted has continued since then. Petyr Baelish, might seem like a harmless man but he is a man nonetheless and all men are dangerous.”

“Where are you going with this my lady?” Tyrell asks, his face making him seem distinctly uncomfortable. Cersei wonders at that, but puts it to the side.

“I am developing a timeline for you my lord. Baelish came to court shortly before the Greyjoy rebellion, and for a few years after it, he was a friend to me. He informed me of the comings and goings on of the court and those within the treasury, and he informed me of those who were corrupt and those who were hiding things. And thus I was able to act, to further the power of the crown. However, there was one thing I did not realise about Baelish then, that I know now.” Cersei replies.

“And what is that?” Stark asks, a hint of interest in his voice.

Cersei looks at the man, and when she looks at him, she sees his father writ clearly on his face, it is a slightly unnerving image, but one that she knows she can use to her advantage. “Why, my lord, surely you know by now. After all I know you have spoken with him many times before, both in council meetings and out of them. Surely you know of what I speak? Baelish is a snake. He slithers from one person to the other, offering his services like a whore. And you know why he does that? Because it is all a game to him.”

A hushed whisper goes up around the Dragonpit, and Cersei knows that Baelish will be sweating inside, he never did like being made the focus of a questioning, and now she will make sure that he is. “And why do you think that?” her lord father asks.

Cersei would kiss her father if she could, but she knows Lord Tywin, and she knows that he does not like any such display of emotion, instead she says. “Because I know people like Baelish, they are unscrupulous, men who can willingly own several brothels within the same city, and allow their patrons to perform all kinds of blasphemous acts cannot take life seriously. And for another thing, I know his relationship with Lady Lysa was anything but cordial.”

The whisperings that spring up from her words are exactly the reaction she was hoping for, however, she knows that smiling now would make Stark go against her, and she has him right where she wants him, so she keeps her face expressionless. “And what do you mean by that?” Lord Tyrell asks.

“What I mean my lord, is that they were sleeping together, and had been from the moment that Baelish came to King’s Landing.” She replies.

There is an outbreak of whispering then, and Cersei knows that she has very nearly sealed Baelish’s fate with her words. The thought is a delightful one. “And how do you know this?” Her Lord Father asks.

“And did you tell anyone about this?” Stark asks.

Cersei knows she needs to consider her words carefully here, her father will know if she is lying and considering he has done little to move her from the cell she was in before this, she is not in the mood to gamble her life on his good will. So after much consideration she says. “I told my Lord Husband, the King.”

There is more murmuring at that, she knows she is very close, so very close to putting Baelish away, she can taste it. “Why did you not come to Lord Arryn to speak to him about it?” Stark asks.

She is almost amazed by the question, and then she remembers who it is who asked it and her surprise disappears. “No husband likes to be told that his wife has been cuckholding him. Let alone with a man like Baelish my lord. I did what I thought was right.”

“How did the King react?” Stark questions.

“With anger, he threatened to have Baelish killed there and then. But after some time he calmed down and said that he would go and speak with Lord Arryn, but before he could, Lord Arryn fell ill and then died.” Cersei responds.

“You waited until then to tell your husband, the King, that his hand was being cuckholded?” Stark exclaims.

Cersei bristles slightly, but manages to keep her voice calm when she says. “I had to find out as much as I could before I presented my claims to my husband. And by the time I had gathered enough information, Lord Arryn was already failing, and so I did what I could, but before Robert could act, he died.”

“I see,” her lord father says then, cutting in before Stark can question her further. “And other proof do you have of Baelish’s treachery?”

Cersei hesitates for a brief moment, she has scarce information on Baelish’s treachery, other than the things he had told her when Stark’s father was still alive, but she knows that unless she presents those findings, she will be meeting the axe, and so she says. “When Lord Eddard was still alive, Baelish came to me speaking of how Stark was planning to do terrible things to my children, and how he planned on gaining revenge for the Sack of King’s Landing, I did not believe him then, but I kept a track of what he was saying. I know he boasted of taking Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa’s maidenheads, and I know he came very close to suggesting that the attack on Brandon Stark was the doing of House Lannister, for his own gain. He came and gave me false information about Lord Eddard, and furthermore, gave me false information about Lord Renly. He has been lying to myself, and to the King for many years now. I discovered before my arrest, that he had been doing strange things within his brothels.”

“What strange things?” Lord Tyrell asks.

Cersei closes her eyes for a moment, acting as if the things she is thinking of are painful and horrible, but in reality she closes her eyes to make sure she gets the words right. “He organises rallies where people burn paintings of the King, both my son and my husband, and where they worship the image of a dragon headed woman. Treason if ever there was one.”

A roar of outrage goes up at that, and it takes sometime before the crowd settles down and order is restored, when it is, it is her father who speaks. “Thank you my lady, that is all.”

Cersei curtseys before the three judges and takes a step back, her heart is hammering within her chest then as she watches the three judges discussing what she has said and undoubtedly discussing her fate as well, it seems they are all quite animated, with even her father showing some rare emotion on his face. Her heart continues to hammer away in her chest, she can hear the murmuring going on within the Dragonpit, and it has set her nerves on edge, she does not know what to think, or even what to do, but she knows she must remain expressionless, lest someone think she has been lying this entire time. She does not want that, she wants to live, for if she lives, she can rise again through the ashes, dead she cannot.

Eventually, the three judges before her stop their muttering, and turn to face her and the crowd around her, silence falls as they do that, and Cersei can feel her heart enter her mouth then. The hush that fills the Dragonpit is a damn sight unnerving, and she wonders how she is going to cope with whatever fate is read out for her. Stark, as master of laws speaks. “My lords, ladies, and people of King’s Landing, thank you for your patience during this trial. We have heard many shocking and worrying things, and as such, it has taken us the course of this trial to reach a decision.” The man pauses, and Cersei gets the feeling that he is enjoying this, almost too much, she keeps her mouth shut though. Stark continues. “After much discussion with my fellow judges, it has been decided that Lady Cersei Lannister, having knowingly done things that endangered a member of the King’s council, shall be sent from King’s Landing to Oldtown where she shall spend the rest of her days as a silent sister.” Cersei breathes a sigh of relief then; she had been afraid of much worse. “She shall leave within the week, and will be escorted by a member of the Kingsguard, as befits her station.” The man pauses, and Cersei senses that another judgement is about to be pronounced. “As for Petyr Baelish, we have found him guilty of treason, and shall see him executed.”


	72. Jon XXIII

**10 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The trial had been an interesting event, having power, proper power in his hands had been something. Most of his life had been spent kowtowing to others, to Robb, to Lady Catelyn, to his father, but during the trial he had had power. He had held the fate of a woman, the Queen Dowager no less, in his hands, and that, well that had thrilled him. It was strange really, growing up and observing his father and listening to him, it had seemed as if having power was not something to enjoy, that it was this great burden that needed to be respected and nothing else. Jon was finding that he did not agree with that view, yes power was to be respected, but he liked it, he liked having control, he had not had control before, and now he had, of course the King had full control, but still, he had some control and that thought was well intoxicating.  Baelish was dead as well, had died from his command, that the King had given him that privilege was something else, the feeling of taking a man’s life using a sword made of steel was something. He had killed men in battle, but never had he done what his father had done many times before, and now, well now he had. Baelish was gone, and his network was slowly crumbling, Jon was seeing to that.

The King had summoned him to his personal chambers, for the first time in a while alongside the Redwyne Twins, Bryce Storm and Waymar Royce. The absence of Tyrek Lannister was still felt keenly though, and not for the first time Jon wondered where the man could be. His thoughts were interrupted though when the King began speaking. “Baelish is dead; my mother will join the Silent Sisters on the morrow. I would say things have gone rather well for us in the past few months, since Stannis died as well.” They raise their glasses to toast the King’s words then, and after taking a deep sip, the King continues. “Now that that is done, there are some things that perhaps we should discuss.” A pause and then. “Tell me Jon, what made you decide to send my mother to the Silent Sisters and not to the executioners block?”

Jon hesitates for a moment, the urge to be completely honest overwhelms him. “It did not seem right to me Your Grace. Your mother, the Queen Dowager had done nothing to harm your person, she had only gone for me, and therefore I agreed with Lord Mace when he suggested the Silent Sisters. It is out of the way and she will not be able to interfere from Oldtown.”

“And tell me what did Lord Tywin say should be done with her?” the King asks, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Jon hesitates and then finds himself saying. “He wanted her spared and pardoned and allowed to return to court Your Grace. He said that she had not threatened the royal person and therefore she did not deserve to be sentenced anywhere or for anything. It took much time to convince him.”

“No doubt he was worrying over his vaunted legacy being tarnished by such a thing, little does he realise that he tarnishes it with every breath he continues to take within this city.” The King says bluntly.

“I agree Your Grace, I think Lord Tywin needs to be shown his place, and reminded that he is only the Hand, not the King himself.” Ser Horas says.

Regardless of the Tyrells being on the King’s side now, Jon does not trust the Redwyne twins, there is something about them, that just seems off to him, he is not sure what. “And how would you suggest going about that Ser?” Jon finds himself asking.

The man’s eyes narrow when he looks at Jon, and Jon knows, he just knows that the man is probably wondering why he has to speak to a former bastard at all. After their staring match concludes, the man clears his voice and addresses the King. “Your Grace, I think a strong display will remind Lord Tywin that you and not he is the King, and that he listens to you, not the other way around.”

“Lord Tywin does not take well to be reminded of anything Ser Horas. Surely you remember your lessons on King Aerys?” Jon asks.

Again the Redwyne knight looks at him, well glares at him more like, before turning to look at the King to answer. “Your Grace, you are not King Aerys, you are Lord Tywin’s kin, furthermore, you defeated Stannis before the man came here, and therefore he cannot use that over your head. Use it over his instead, and make him see that he owes you his continued existence.”

Something about the man’s words make Jon think that they have come from elsewhere, he is not sure who might have said them, but he thinks he knows their tone, and he does not like it, not one bit. Before he can speak however, Bryce Storm talks. “I think you need to go about this more subtly Your Grace. Aerys fell down when he tried to remove Lord Tywin, for he was not subtle, nor was he as clever as he thought he was.”

“That is what we have been led to believe.” Jon says then. “For all we know Lord Tywin could have changed the accounts of his time here to make him seem more competent that he actually was.”

Ser Hobber bursts out laughing then. “Are you serious my lord? Surely you cannot think that someone like Lord Tywin would need to resort to such unchivalrous tactics?”

Jon looks at the King for a moment, and when the King nods he continues. “Lord Tywin has never been chivalrous Ser. His treatment of the Reynes and Tarbecks shows that, his treatment of the Targaryen children shows that. The man does not understand honour, nor does he have any. I would not be surprised if he changed the records of his time here, to suit his own needs.”

“You cannot be serious? Perhaps they might do something like that in the north, but not here.” Ser Horas says laughing.

Before Jon can respond, the King speaks his tone harsh. “You will apologise Ser Horas. I do not accept insults of loyal subjects.”

“But Your Grace.” The man says.

“But nothing, apologise to Lord Stark now, and be grateful that I do not remove your tongue from your mouth.” The King snarls, Jon sees Ghost barring his teeth at Redwyne as well, reflecting the King’s anger.

“I am sorry my lord.” The knight says begrudgingly, looking at Jon for the first time without malicious intent in his eyes.

“It is alright Ser Horas.” Jon responds.

There is a moment of silence then as they allow what has just happened to disappear into the air between them all, Ghost flops down at his side, and then the King speaks. “You know, I do not think you are wrong Jon. My grandfather would not be above doing such things as you have suggested, I think perhaps that is something worth looking into. And with Pycelle having changed his tune so readily, perhaps the time is coming to replace him as well.”

“What do you suggest Your Grace?” Jon asks.

“I think we need to see what Pycelle changed when he wrote the accounts of Aerys’ reign, there must be a place within this damned castle, after all, surely there must have been someone who knew what was going on?” the King ponders.

Jon thinks for a moment and then at the same time as the King says. “Varys.”

The King looks at him, and he looks at the King, and when the King nods he continues. “Varys was the one man who pleaded with King Aerys to not open the gates during the sack, surely he must know something of what happened when Lord Tywin was hand, if we find out what he knows perhaps that might be enough to bring him down.”

The King nods. “I agree, Varys will undoubtedly wish to spill something he has no doubt been keeping a secret for a long time, that man is like a whore.”

There is a moment of silence as they contemplate how they will get this piece of information out of the eunuch, for it is not likely that he will part with it so willingly, even if the King asks, especially if the King asks, now he thinks about it. Eventually, the King speaks once more. “Bryce, tell me what do you know of Varys?”

Jon wonders why the King looks to Bryce for a response, and he realises that there is still so much he does not know about some of the King’s inner circle, such as Waymar Royce, the man says nothing and yet he remains part of the King’s inner circle he wonders why. He looks to Bryce then and when the man speaks, his words are somewhat hesitant, as if he is holding something back. “I know that he came from Myr, or from Lys, one of the two. I know that it was his reputation in Essos that got him noticed by King Aerys who had his previous master of whispers killed to invite Varys back, or had Varys kill the master of whispers to prove himself. And I know he has spies throughout the court.”

“He was the one who brought you to my father’s attention was he not?” the King asks.

Storm shifts uncomfortably before the King’s gaze, Jon wonders at that, and puts it aside for later questioning. “Yes Your Grace.” Storm answers eventually.

“Then you shall go and speak with him. Make it clear you want to know more about that time, do you understand?” the King asks.

The man nods though he looks terrified, and Jon does not quite understand why, however, the King it seems has moved onto other things. “Shireen will be coming to King’s Landing very soon, alongside her mother and hopefully that red whore of Stannis’s. With them here we can finally put that part of the war to rest.”

“What will you do with her Your Grace?” Jon asks.

“She will go to join the Maidens within the Great Sept of Baelor. It is easier that way. I can keep an eye on her, and furthermore, none of these fools who would support her can use her then. They still follow that red abomination.” The King responds.

Jon shudders then, wondering how anyone could condone the burning of innocents. “And what will you do with the Lady Selyse Your Grace?” he asks.

The King is silent a moment as if thinking through this crucial issue, though Jon knows that he had long ago decided on the matter. “I shall have her executed.”

There is silence for a time, and then the King continues. “Now, there is another issue at hand. I need two of you to go north with Lord Randyll when he goes to fight Robb Stark, and I need you to serve as my eyes and ears there. I do not trust the man, and I do believe he will have some further motive for going.”

Immediately the Redwyne twins put their hands up. “Please Your Grace, choose us.” They say in unison. “We would like nothing more than to go with you.”

The King looks at them both with a strange expression on his face, but eventually he says. “Waymar and Hobber, you shall both go. You will be accompanied by Ser Valar of course. And I want you to write back to me of what you hear and what you find, do you understand?”

“Yes Your Grace.” The two men reply.

“Good now leave me, Jon you stay.” The King says.

Jon watches as the others leave him, a strange feeling in his heart, he wonders what the King wishes to discuss in private. Once the others are gone and it is just him and the King alone in the room, the King looks at him and says softly. “Horas is the traitor.”

Jon looks at him and asks. “How do you know Your Grace?”

“Because, he did not wish to look at you.” The King responds.

“What will you do?” Jon asks.

“Oh, it is not what I will do, but what the realm will do to him that matters now.” The King responds cryptically.


	73. Theon IV

**10 th Month of 299 A.C. Deepwood Motte**

**Prince Theon Greyjoy**

They had marched from Winterfell, all six hundred and twenty of them, six hundred Bolton men and his twenty Ironborn, they had marched from Winterfell to Deepwood Motte, and Theon knew that Ramsay Snow wanted him to bring about his sister’s surrender. Theon, though, was not sure that Asha would surrender, he still remembered her words from when they were on Pyke, how she had mocked him, how she had refused to help their father see, he did not think she would willingly give up what she saw as hers to survive, perhaps she would rather die than to that. There was a small part of him that was more than willing to oblige her in that regard, even if it did make him a Kinslayer, she was no kin of his, Bran and Rickon, they were his kin more so than her, and he had killed them, he’d swung the sword himself, but gods, their eyes haunted him still. Almost as much as that thing Ramsay had shown him deep within the bowels of Winterfell haunted him. Gods, he hoped he didn’t have to do anything stupid now.

Their horses were in front of the gates of the stout little fortress, home of the Glovers, it had belonged to his sister for almost an entire year, and that was something Theon knew she would use to run over him if they ever went home, if he ever went home more like. Taking a breath he calls out. “Asha, come out and speak to me. I know you are there; I wish to speak to you.”

A moment of silence and then from nowhere his sister appears, she looks as fit as ever, and she looks angry. “What are you doing here with northmen Theon?” his sister barks.

Ramsay speaks then. “He is the Prince of Winterfell, and holds the capital of the north. Our swords are his, wench.”

Theon sees his sister’s grip on her axe tighten, and he prays she does not say something foolish, Ramsay has a mighty temper when roused, as his back will attest to. Thankfully Asha seems to ignore Ramsay and instead says. “You have come to talk have you my prince? Well then talk.”

Theon feels something clench within his stomach, he does not know whether it is sorrow or irritation. For so long when he was in Winterfell he longed to see Asha, he remembered her fondly, his big sister who always defended him against their cruel older brothers, but then he returned to Pyke and the kindness had gone, replaced with only harshness. Steeling himself against the memories, and in as calm a voice as he can manage he says. “I would prefer to speak to you from a level ground Asha, it is only fair.”

“Very well then.” His sister responds, and she turns and disappears from sight, as Theon waits for her to come down and speak with him, his heart hammers in his chest. He does not know what Ramsay will do if this goes as he hopes, or what he will do if it does not. He really wants Asha to live, to return home to the Islands, he has heard things terrible things, and he is not sure he wants to be alive when they come.

His thoughts are interrupted when the gates open and his sister rides out, she stops her horse in front of him, and he notes that her guard-gods what has the world come to? - stop at her side, all carrying steel. “Well, what is it you wanted to talk about?” his sister asks.

Theon takes a deep breath, and fights the urge to look at Ramsay, he knows what will happen if he does that, Ramsay made that very clear, and so he says. “Father is not coming to your aid Asha, neither is uncle Victarion, surely you realise that by now. They have left you out here to dry and die. I am the Prince of Winterfell, you hold Deepwood Motte, swear fealty to me, and you shall be protected.”

There is a moment of silence, and Theon can feel sweat break out across his face, it is damned cold, but still he feels hot, he does not know what that means, and he hopes that Asha gives a response soon enough. When she does, her voice is filled with scorn. “And pray tell me, how do you propose to protect me Theon? You are the one who killed the Stark boys, the northmen will want to have you gutted the moment their Young Wolf comes back here.”

“He will not get past Moat Cailin. Not with Victarion holding the Moat, the cranogmen will never fight, not when their liege lord betrayed them so evidently.” Theon says, speaking the words that Ramsay told him to speak.

“What do you mean?” his sister asks.

“Stark was supposed to marry Meera Reed, but instead he betrothed himself to a Frey and then married a Westerling, Howland Reed will not easily forget that.” Theon says, hating himself for the lie.

His sister considers this for a moment, and he sees her really thinking, when she speaks it is not the offer of fealty he had hoped for, instead she looks directly at Ramsay and says. “Lord Bolton, if you would not mind giving my brother and I some privacy, I would like to ask him a question.”

Theon expects Ramsay to bellow a denial, instead he merely smiles and says. “Of course my lady.” Theon hears his horse turning and galloping off a fair distance, whilst Asha commands her guards to do the same, when he next looks, it is just him and her, and he stares at her.

“What is going on Theon, why are you doing this foolishness? Do you really think the northmen will accept you?” his sister asks hurriedly.

Theon stares at his sister, terrified of telling her truth, but terrified of not saying something, to anyone about the horror he has put on himself. “I have no choice. I have to do as he says Asha, please help, bend the knee now.”

His sister looks at him, she looks as if she wants to say something more, but whatever she has to say quite clearly changes for she instead calls out. “Very well my prince.” Theon watches half dazed as his sister gets of her horse and gets onto bended knee and says. “I, Asha of the House Greyjoy do hereby acknowledge you, Theon of House Greyjoy, as Prince of Winterfell and my sovereign.”


	74. Robb I

**10 th Month of 299 A.C. Riverrun**

**King Robb I Stark**

He had won every single battle he had personally led and commanded, he had reduced the Westerlands to a burning husk and taken much of the gold still left in Castamere and Tarbeck Hall, but there was little he could do about the situation his house found itself in. Bran and Rickon were dead, Sansa was in the hands of the Lannisters, Arya was gods knew where, and Jon, Jon, his brother, his friend, his comrade had betrayed him. When Theon had betrayed him it had stung, but he should not have been surprised after Jon’s betrayal. He had thought at first that Jon was merely doing the service to protect Sansa and Arya, and then he would get them out, but the longer they had stayed in King’s Landing the more he had suspected otherwise, and then had come the raven, Jon had been named Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North by the yellow haired shit on the throne. Mother had flipped when she had heard, and had said all along she had known Jon would not remain true, and though Robb had wanted to defend Jon he had not, for he was slipping from the views he had held before this war had begun. He was not a boy anymore, he was a King and he needed to act like one.

Jeyne had not given him an heir as of yet, and he was beginning to wonder what he had seen in her, what had made him marry her, and then he would remember, the fact he had slept with her. The shame of that and the loss of the Freys had angered many of his lords, including Karstark, who had not done what Robb had feared he might have done when they had learned of the Kingslayer’s release. Indeed, Karstark had remained oddly composed for a time, though he had sent men out to hunt for the Kingslayer. Lannister prisoners had died, but not the ones that mattered, thankfully. Still, Robb was without an heir, and he was not sure he could trust the Freys, hence why he had called the meeting of his lords to discuss options with them. As he looks at them all, he feels a tiredness come over him, he has been fighting for nearly two years now, and time is beginning to wear on him. He takes a sip of wine and begins speaking. “My lords and ladies, Walder Frey has agreed to a marriage between Lord Edmure and his daughter Roslin, and as such the wedding will take place within the moon. Of course, Lord Walder is known for his fickleness, and I would hear from my Riverlords what they think might happen during this wedding, and what other concessions the man might ask.”

Silence falls for a moment and then Lord Jason Mallister, the staunchest supporter of his cause bar his mother’s family speaks. “He might well ask that you take on two more of his descendants Your Grace. The two who were at Winterfell died as I believe we all know. Furthermore, his family will subject you to insults and catcalls I believe. Something that will only worsen if Queen Jeyne accompanies you.”

Robb thinks on this for a moment before asking. “So are you suggesting I leave my wife here?”

“Yes Your Grace. Alternatively, she could ride on with myself and my men toward Seagard and then take ship to join you in the north. It would save the trouble, and spare further angering the Freys.” Mallister responds.

For a moment Robb considers simply stating that he is their King, and whether they like it or not Jeyne is their Queen, so the Freys can simply shut up and deal with it. But he knows how childish that would sound and so instead he says. “Very well then, if that is of no inconvenience to you my lord of Mallister, I shall send Jeyne off with you to Seagard and from there to the Neck.”

Lady Maege speaks then, and Robb thinks he has an inkling of what she is going to say before she says it. “Your Grace, if I might?” Robb nods and she continues. “I think that sending Queen Jeyne off ahead is a risky move. The Freys are known for being treacherous, and I do think they might seek to make use of her should they find out, and given that they will have people waiting for you near their lands, I think it best if she remains within Riverrun, where we know that she shall be safe and secure.”

Robb looks at Lady Maege and then Lord Mallister, half expecting the man to protest, when he does not Robb comes to a realisation, _they do not like Jeyne at all, gods what have I done?_ The guilt of the action was something that hung heavily over his head, but he could not take it back, and no matter how long he tried to, it would not change anything. Jeyne was not pregnant and her mother was a harridan. Gods what had he gotten himself in for. Taking another sip of wine, he speaks. “I can see where you are coming from my lady, Lord Mallister I believe keeping my wife here is for the best. My apologies.”

“There is nothing to apologies for my King, you are doing what you think is best.” Lord Jason responds, and Robb thinks he detects a hint of sarcasm there. He wonders how it came to this, how has he allowed it to come to this?

Deciding to think on that later, he nods and then says. “Very well, now that issue is decided, there are two other things I wish to discuss. First and foremost, the issue of defending the Riverlands following my return north.”  He pauses, looks around the room seeing the eyes of the Riverlords looking at him intently, and then continues. “I will return to the Riverlands once the Ironborn are dealt with, and I shall ensure that the Lannisters remain out. Until then Lord Edmure, it is your duty to protect them as best as you can. I want fortresses built near borders to significantly increase protection of lands and fields. Furthermore, I want this Brotherhood Without Banners found and I want them dealt with. They are nothing but a nuisance.”

His uncle nods. “As you command Your Grace, will there be a chance for us to use the gold taken from the West? It will help finance the construction of these fortresses.”

Robb nods. “Of course, I shall leave half of it here within your possession to ensure that none else try and use it for illicit purposes.” He emphasises that last point and his uncle blushes slightly. After a moment, he continues. “And now finally, for the thing that I have gathered you all here for. Since my brothers died, and my sisters are in enemy hands or missing, and Jeyne has not yet given me a son, I have decided to name an heir.” He holds up a piece of paper. “This piece of paper is my will, and it names who I have chosen to succeed me should I die before siring an heir from Jeyne. I would have you all fix your seal to it.” He gives the paper to his uncle who fixes his seal to it and as it is passed round, Robb feels a mixture of emotions pass through him, regret, despair, hope, anger, and most of all confusion. He has learned things in the last few days, things that would make him question doing all of this, but he cannot tell anyone for fear of it being a lie. Once he knows for sure he can make changes to everything, until then, though this will have to do. Once the last person has affixed their seal, it is given back to him and he says. “Lord Glover and Lady Maege, you shall take a copy of this will with you to Greywater Watch, Lord Mallister shall escort you there. I want you gone within the day.” Both nod their heads, and Robb feels slightly more at ease, though he has a feeling that it is not going to be completely easy, for as he has learned, nothing in life is completely easy.

 

 

 


	75. Jon XXIV

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

Things between him and Sansa were progressing quickly, the hesitation he had felt before was slowly disappearing, and she was proving to be a constant companion for him. Sansa was someone who he had never really spoken to before coming to King’s Landing, he had never thought much of her, and he knew she had never thought much of him, but now she was a friend, a confidant, not a lover, but she was as good as one. The things they had done were things worth blushing over, but they had never gone beyond touching, he was not going to dishonour her, he was still not sure what to do, the King had not given any indication that he knew about them, but Jon knew the King, and he knew that the King had to know, and so there was some worry there. Sansa had told him about the conversation she had had with Cersei Lannister before the woman had left for Oldtown, and well, it seemed the woman had noticed some things. All in all, it was an exciting and confusing thing for him, and something he hoped he could settle on soon.

The King had requested his presence, and so Jon had forgone an afternoon spent with Sansa for the King’s company, for if the King called he would always answer. Ghost was lounging in between the two of them, his tongue lolling slightly, the King was dressed in Baratheon gold and black, and cut a dashing figure, Jon waited in silence for the King to speak, and when he did the words were strong and affirmative. “I am sorry for taking you away from your time with your sister Jon, but there were some things that I wished to discuss with you.”

“Of course Your Grace, it is no trouble.” Jon responds.

The King nods and then says. “Tell me Jon, what do you make of Ser Horas and Ser Hobber?”

Jon thinks on this and then says honestly. “I do not trust them Your Grace. There is something about them that really makes me wonder where their true loyalties lie, there is a rot inside them.”

The King seems to consider this for a moment before he nods in agreement. “I agree, there has always been something off with them. I have suspected it from the moment that I first met them, truth be told I never really wanted them within my friends but then again, they were useful to have. Puppets to dance whenever I snapped my fingers. Now tell me, what makes you think they cannot be trusted?”

Jon thinks over the question for a moment and then says. “I am not sure Your Grace, but there was something about the way they acted when Renly Baratheon was alive that made question where their true loyalties lay. That and the fact that their father’s fleet never came in time until after the Blackwater. It does not make sense.”

“Quite, I do believe that there was a time when they were considering turning their cloaks and serving as spies for Lord Renly.” The King responds, sounding so calm that Jon would not think he was discussing a possible betrayal from his inner circle.

“What makes you think that Your Grace?” Jon asks

“Well as you have said, they were acting rather suspiciously whilst the man was alive, and then the fact that their father’s fleet did not show up until after the Blackwater, well it makes me think there was something going on there. But that is neither here nor there, eventually Hobber will die, and Horas will be left alone.” The King responds.

For some reason that troubles him. “Is that why you sent Hobber out with Lord Tarly’s host Your Grace? So he could die?”

The King looks at him then with a strange expression on his face, but his voice is stable and calm when he responds. “I sent Hobber there to separate him from his twin, and to ensure that I have a man in amongst Lord Tarly’s host.”

“Do you not trust the man Your Grace?” Jon asks curiously.

“Of course not. Tarly is more like Lord Tywin than I had first thought. Tyrell is a bumbling fool; it is Tarly who does most of the heavy lifting out in the field. It will be Tarly co-ordinating the fighting and it will be him who ensures that this battle goes according to plan. But I am sure there is something else he is planning as well, I am certain of it, and so I must have people there to keep an eye. Hobber, as Lord Paxter’s son will be included in council that not even the westerlords with Tarly would be included in, and so he can report back.” The King responds.

A sound plan Jon has to admit, but there is something about it that does not seem right. “But if Hobber is not to be trusted, how can you be sure that he will tell you the truth Your Grace?”

The King smiles then, a wide smile that brings dimples to his cheeks. “Why, that is why Ser Waymar has gone with him. Let us just say that Waymar has information on the man and his activities that would bring great embarrassment to him and his house should they be revealed.”

Jon grimaces slightly and nods. “I see.”

The King looks at him then, a stern expression on his face. “Tell me, how would you deal with the Redwyne twins Jon?”

Jon thinks for a moment, there was a time when he would’ve spoken of honour and finding evidence, but now he knows that men like the Redwynes would have buried such evidence deep down where none could find it, and so instead he responds. “As you have Your Grace. There is no leniency for traitors. And we cannot afford such a thing now.”

The King nods. “Exactly. And now with your brother leaving the Riverlands in the hands of his fool of an uncle, the chance to recapture all of it is there. Tell me Jon, what will your brother do once he is in the north?”

Jon thinks through that question for a long moment, considering all the options before his brother, he grimaces slightly at that, his brother, Robb, the traitor, Robb the blessed, Robb the cunt, all things he has thought of his brother more than once over their lives, and now, well now he is not sure what to think of his brother anymore. Clearing that thought from his mind he says. “Winter is coming Your Grace, and with it, my brother and his men will need to remain in the north. To ensure that the Ironborn are driven out, and to ensure that the harvest is properly gathered. Most likely he will send for his wife once everything is safe for her.” _You idiot Robb, afraid of siring a bastard were you? Couldn’t handle a stain on your precious honour?_

“I see.” The King says. “And tell me when winter sets in, will your brother come to the Riverlands once more if it is threatened?”

“He will try to, but his lords will not be willing to go south.” Jon responds.

The King is silent for a moment and then he says. “Eventually you will have to go north Jon, to claim the lands that are rightfully yours. What will you do then?”

Jon closes his eyes then, not wanting to think of the answer he knows he must give, of the pain that he must cause to claim his right. Eventually he opens his eyes and says. “I will do what must be done. My brother is a traitor and he shall pay for that treason.”

“Even if it hurts your sister’s heart? If it makes you a villain in her eyes?” the King asks.

Jon looks at the King for a moment unsure of how to respond, before he can, the King says. “I am many things Jon, but I am not blind. I know how you look at Sansa, and I must say, I cannot fault you, she is a great beauty and she is smart. But tell me, are you willing to have her vision of you clouded by the killing that will need to be done to secure your hold of Winterfell?”

Jon feels as if his heart is being torn in two, he wonders what his father would do, but then he remembers that he never truly knew his father, never truly got to know him, Eddard Stark kept a shroud of distance between him and his bastard, something Jon has always resented. He swallows nervously and then responds. “I will do what is necessary Your Grace, whatever the cost. The realm must have peace, and if my brother cannot see that, then he must die.”

The King does not speak for a long time, and in the silence that follows Jon fears he might have said something wrong, his thoughts are a mess, he feels as if he should say something, anything to break the silence that has fallen, but he does not know what he could say that would dispel this silence. His heart is in turmoil, the thought of fighting Robb and killing him, well that is something else completely, he fought his brother many times when they were children, but never to the point of aggression, always in fun, but now, well gods knows what would happen now. His worrying is interrupted by the King who clears his throat and says. “Lord Tywin is planning on seeing Sansa married off to my uncle Tyrion. He wants to use her to claim the north, to undermine my power. But I will not allow that to happen.”

“Your Grace?” Jon asks confused and relieved.

“Take some time for yourself and your sister. Retreat to the manors you own here, go to Brindlewood if you want. Take Sansa with you, and if you happen to decide to do something there, then I will not stop you. I will give you my blessing. And once it is done, none but the High Septon can undo it, the High Septon is mine.” The King responds.

When he realises what the King is implying, he blushes furiously. “Your Grace, we are brother and sister, it would not be right.”

“The Targaryens married brother to sister and no one said anything. Your own damned family has married brother to sister before Jon. It makes no difference; you will be fine. Now go, take your sister and go. Go for a few days no more, for I shall need you here when the time comes.” The King commands.

Taking note of the dismissal, Jon stands, and bows low before the King before raising himself up and walking out of the room. As he walks back to his own rooms, his thoughts are buzzing with all kinds of things, their conversation, Sansa, Sansa most of all. She has grown into a great beauty, and he knows, he just knows that she will be delighted about this. The thought makes him smile, and so when he gets to his rooms, he calls for Jory and says. “Prepare for a journey Jory.”

“Where to my lord?” Jory asks.

“Brindlewood, myself and Lady Sansa shall be going there for a few days.” Jon replies barely able to keep his enthusiasm at bay. The man nods and hurries off to see that done. Jon then walks to where Sansa’s rooms are and knocks on the door, when she calls for him to enter, he opens the door and strides in, walking straight to her and kissing her on the lips.

She kisses him back and then breaks the kiss to ask. “What is it Jon?” She is smiling and her cheeks are red.

“Come with me to Brindlewood for a few days. Come with me and we can get away from here for a time.” He responds.

Sansa looks at him for a moment, and the kisses him again, when she pulls back she smiles and whispers. “Yes.”


	76. Sansa VI

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Brindlewood Manor**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Sansa enjoyed being away from court, there was less of a stench about Brindlewood, the manor that Jon owned, the air was cleaner here, the people were nicer, and it seemed as if there was a little piece of home here. Home, she had not been home for a year now, and she was not sure when she would be going home, Jon had been named Lord of Winterfell by the King, but as long as Robb lived, he would never be able to claim the title nor return home, and neither would she. The fact that her chances of going home depended on when her brother died, sickened her, this was not what they were supposed to be, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, that was what their father had always taught them, but Bran and Rickon were dead, and Arya was as good as dead, so it was just, her, Jon and Robb, and it seemed Robb never wanted her and Jon back. Her feelings for Jon were beginning to solidify, she no longer felt hesitant about what she felt for him, she loved him, perhaps she always had, she was not sure, but here in Brindlewood, where the servants and staff had served the Targaryens, it was alright for them to hold hands and kiss openly, for no fear of censure, it was beautiful.

That thought is what makes her sigh in pleasure, Jon looks at her and takes her hand. “Are you well my love?” he asks her, and Sansa thinks she will never get over the thrill of hearing him refer to her as that.

“Oh I am more than well Jon, I am very, very well, and very happy. Happier than I have been in a long time.” She replies truthfully.

Jon gives her one of his rare smiles, and she feels her heart soar. “Then I am very happy. For this whole journey and stay has been about that. I know that sometimes King’s Landing can become oppressive for you.”

Sansa looks at Jon wondering how he is so observant, and wondering whether he had always been so observant. “I know you like it there somewhat.” She replies.

Her brother sighs dramatically, causing her to giggle. “I admit my lady, that I do like it in King’s Landing. I enjoy working for the King, and I enjoy the feeling I get from doing good for the realm. Though I am sure that there are people who would not share my view.”

Sansa thinks she knows who her brother is on about and so she asks. “Is Lord Tywin still causing trouble for you?”

Jon laughs. “Lord Tywin causes trouble for everyone who is not working under him and for him. It seems that the man is not willing to work with people, he wants the entire council to work for him.”

That does not surprise Sansa as much as it once might have done, and so she asks. “Does he not realise that King Joffrey is not King Aerys? And that by trying to impose his will on the council, he is simply creating more enemies?”

Her brother laughs once more, a sound that is a rarity apart from when he is with her, she has noticed. “Lord Tywin would not care if he had more enemies than friends. He believes that his reputation and gold will keep away any who might seek to do him harm.”

Sansa thinks over this for a moment, and then it hits her. “Is the King seeking to slowly push Lord Tywin out of the council and send him back to Casterly Rock?”

Her brother looks at her for a long time and then answers. “Something of the sort yes. I think the King wishes to have fresh faces on the council. Lord Tyrion is master of coin and is a man who is firmly loyal to His Grace, there is myself, and then there are the others. I am not sure what to make of the Tyrells and their allies, but I think they will remain loyal so long as the King keeps them fresh.” Her brother sounds slightly angry at that last part.

“They are lucky that their heads are not adorning spikes.” Sansa replies.

“Exactly. Had it been I, I would have doubted their every intention from the moment they arrived at King’s Landing. But the King is smarter than I in this regard. And I think he is doing what he thinks is the right thing.” Jon replies, he pauses for a moment and then asks. “What do you make of our future Queen?”

Sansa thinks for a moment, and then responds. “Margaery seems kind, she has always been interested in what I do and what I think of things. Whether that is just a front or not, I am not sure, but I think she will make a very good Queen.”

Jon grunts in response, and takes a deep sip of wine. When he is done, he puts his cup down and says. “You know, I did not really wish to discuss the affairs of King’s Landing now, I wished to get away from it all. And as such it is my own fault, and for that I beg your forgiveness my lady.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sansa replies.

Jon stands up then and Sansa watches as he moves toward her, her heart thumping in her chest. “Oh but there is my lady. I brought you here to make sure that the stresses of the capital did not ruin things for you. I hope you can forgive me for speaking about politics when this was supposed to be a time of carefreeness away from the darkness of that world.”

“I have already said that there is nothing to forgive Jon.” Sansa responds.

Jon blushes then, and Sansa wonders at it, she wonders even more when he comes to stand before her, staring into her eyes with such intensity. “I… I am really making a mess of this. Sorry, my love. What… what I… what I am trying to say is…” Sansa’s heart is in her mouth when she sees Jon get done on one knee before her. “What I am trying to ask Sansa, is, will you marry me?”

Sansa feels such happiness fill her then, and she leans forward and kisses Jon square on the lips before pulling away and gushing. “Yes, of course. Yes…yes…. yes” she throws her arms around him and kisses him once more.


	77. Theon V

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Theon Greyjoy**

He was a prince, but he was not. He was a Greyjoy but he was not. He wanted to be a Stark but he was not. His whole life he had wanted to be something he could never be, the realisation of that now, in his current situation was something that had led him down some very dark paths. He remembered all too well the bottle that had stood before him, the dagger in his hand pointed at his chest, but he had not done it, he was too much of a coward to even do that, the drowned god knew he wanted it all to end, but he had not done it. He had not had the stones to do it, thankfully Ramsay had not found out, otherwise the punishment would have been something terrible. Ramsay had gone off to the Dreadfort to deal with some vassals who were causing issues, and so Theon had been left alone, he was not surprised Asha had come now, more than likely she had been keeping an eye on things. The Ironborn held Deepwood Motte, but Theon did not know for how long, and he did not care, not anymore.

He looks at his sister, his bones aching from gods alone know what. She looks haggard as well, but she also looks strong, Asha always looks strong, before he might have resented her for that, but now he cares not. “What do you want Asha?” Theon asks, his voice sounding strange and far off.

“I want to help you Theon.” His sister responds.

He snorts in response. “How do you propose to do that sister? Ramsay has more men and spies here and elsewhere than anyone I’ve ever known. If you try and do something he will undoubtedly know and it will end badly for you.”

“I will not simply sit in Deepwood Motte whilst that man does the things he does. It is not right.” His sister responds fiercely.

Theon feels like laughing, but he does not know how to do that anymore, instead he looks at his sister with disbelief. “Asha, the northmen despise the Ironborn, they always have. They will never work with you, not so long as it looks as if their King might come back to aid them.”

Asha looks at him with something akin to disgust. “Do you think they will fight for him? Stark could not defend his home, and he has married a slut. They do not respect him to hear them talk of him.”

“And do you think they will rally to Kraken banners? Ramsay Snow is using me sister, I know that much. And he is also keeping my almost certain death at bay for the time being.” Theon responds, hating how bitter he sounds. He thinks about mentioning the other things that Snow is doing to him, but he decides that Asha does not need to know that. “Snow will fight the King in the North, and he will try to win. It is better if we remain out of all of this.”

His sister looks at him with disgust, it is writ clearly on her face, and Theon is not sure how to respond to that, there are some things he wishes he could tell Asha, of the nights he spent as a child crying for her, for their mother, of how he wished she had written in response to his letters, but those things will not aid him now and so he remains quiet and waits for her to speak. When she does, her voice is laden with disgust. “Father was right. I did not think that would be the case, but he was right. You are no Ironborn.”

Theon laughs then, the sound brittle and distant, and his chest hurts from doing so, but he laughs and laughs until tears start rolling down his cheeks, when he stops, he is gasping for air. Eventually he manages to speak. “Of course I am not Ironborn sister. I grew up in Winterfell, or have you forgotten that? I grew up here after father’s failed rebellion. Father tried to resurrect the old ways, but he forgot that the old ways died for a reason. I paid the price for his foolishness, and then when I came to him with a deal that would make us great, he threw it back in my face. His pride has done this to me, his pride and my ignorance. I thought I could win father to my side, but I never had him in the first place. He cared only for Rodrik and Maron when they were alive, I was just a burden. He cared for you, for you were his daughter. Me? I was just there. He never knew me, he never needed me, not until his rebellion got our brothers killed. And then he never spoke to me, he never wrote to me. He did nothing.”

His sister is silent then, and he wishes she would say something, anything, anything at all, that would stop his urge to scream and shout, such a thing will only wake the thing down below, and he does not want that, he does not think he could deal with such a thing. Eventually Asha speaks and her voice is soft. “Father is dead.”

Theon looks at her and then shrugs. “And? Why should I care?”

His sister looks at him strangely then. “Because it means you are the King of the Iron Islands. Theon, you must claim your crown.”

Theon looks at her for a moment and then laughs. “What good would that do? I might not even be able to escape from here. Snow has more men guarding this place than Stark did when he was alive. If I even try to escape I will be killed on sight, as will you.”

His sister looks at him oddly and her voice is barely above a whisper when she replies. “If you have enough support, you will be able to leave here alive and claim what is rightfully yours.”


	78. Jon XXV

****

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Brindlewood Manor**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The sun was shining brightly today, and that made him feel all the better, for today was a very important day, it was his wedding day. His heart beat a little quicker when he thought of it like that, he hoped that everything would be okay, and that nothing would go wrong. Sansa deserved only the best, and he was determined to make that so. He had spared no expense getting a small feast ready for after the ceremony, and he was determined to ensure that she enjoyed it. That the King was here was only adding to his confidence, it showed that he had royal approval, as did the presence of the Kingsguard, and the lack of presence of that old fool Tywin Lannister. The King had told him how the old man had reacted to being informed of his and Sansa’s wedding and it had been enough to make him laugh, truly laugh. The godswood in Brindlewood was nothing compared to the one in Winterfell, but it would do for now, and as he stands there waiting for Sansa to arrive, Jon cannot help but think that this is perfect, that this moment has been destined for a long time.

There is a small gathering of people, mainly his household as well as the people the King has brought to witness the wedding, and the High Septon, who somehow was dragged out of his great palace to perform this ceremony. Jon had wanted to cater to Sansa’s wishes, and feelings, and as she worshipped the seven as well as the old gods, it only felt appropriate that they had both present for their wedding. A hush falls about the crowd, and Jon looks behind him to see Sansa walking toward him, Lady following, Jeyne Poole walking with her, she looks divine, in a blue gown that really brings out her eyes, he feels his heart begin to quicken and as he looks at her she smiles at him and he thinks he might sing. Before she comes to him, she stops. Jon takes a breath and calls out. “Who comes?”

“Lady Sansa of the House of Stark. A maiden grown and flowered. Who claims her?” Jory calls back, it had been the King’s idea that Jory play the role of Sansa’s father for this ceremony, the absence of Lord Eddard a bitter wound of the man’s own making.

“Jon, OF House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North.” Jon responds, his voice firm.

Jory winks at him, causing him to smile slightly, and then Sansa is standing beside him, looking at him intently. The High Septon begins speaking. “My lords, and ladies, Your Grace, we are gathered here today, to witness the pairing of these two noble souls in love and matrimony. Marriage is a sacred thing, it is something that the gods both old and new have declared a privilege and it is something that should not be considered a sham or a joke. What these two nobles are to do today is a commitment to one another. If there is any here who would seek to stop this, let them speak now.” Silence greets that statement and so the man before him looks at them both and continues. “You may now say your vows.”

Jon goes first. “Sansa, I promise that I shall always love and protect you from this day to my last. I will always care for you, and provide for you. And I will ensure that none do harm to you. Your pain is my pain; your happiness is my happiness. I love you.” He is not sure if that really does justice to what he feels for her, he has never been very good with words.

Sansa looks at him then, and Jon feels as if she is looking right into his very soul. “Jon, I promise to always be there for you, to provide you with advice and comfort away from the disturbances of court and the larger world. I promise to bear your children and to give you healthy sons and beautiful daughters. Your pain is my pain; your happiness is my happiness. I love you.”

They smile at one another, and Jon has to fight the urge to kiss her there and then. After what seems like a lifetime the High Septon speaks. “It is done; the words have been spoken the vows have been said. Here in this sacred place, I declare you man and wife.”

A cheer goes up as Jon leans down to kiss his wife, that word is something he’s going to have to get used to. Sansa deepens their kiss, and her little hum of pleasure sends a jolt through him. Eventually they break apart to greet the well wishers, a throng of people come to greet them and congratulate them, Jon gives the courtesies they are due, but he is not really paying attention to them, he’s looking at his wife, drinking her in as if he might lose her. Sansa, sweet, beautiful Sansa is his, he’d be lying if there wasn’t a part of him that loved that he now was married to Lady Catelyn’s perfect daughter, he’d love to see how the woman reacted to that. But that was a small part of him, the larger part of him was very happy and pleased that they were now married. He could not wait to spend more time with his wife truly he could not.

“Thank you all very much for coming, it is very kind of you.” Sansa says. “But I think the feast is about to begin, so shall we move there?”

A cheer greets her words, and Jon smiles, his wife is a good hostess. He leans down to whisper to her. “Thank you my love, I do not think I could stand here any longer.”

Sansa giggles slightly then and she takes his hand and leads him toward the manor and the feast that awaits, he marvels at how well their hands fit together, and he wonders how he ever managed to get through life without her. He looks back for just a moment to see where the King is, and notes him speaking to someone from the City Watch a strange look on his face.


	79. Cersei VII

****

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Oldtown**

**Queen Cersei Lannister**

Oldtown, a lesser place compared to Lannisport and the Rock, but it was her home now, and had been for nearly a moon, ever since her son had given the right to decide her fate to the bastard. That thought still rankled her, that her son trusted that bastard more than her, his own mother, it burned and it fuelled her anger. Cersei did not need to plan to escape from here, she knew her father was working to get her out of this shit heap, this was no fitting place for a daughter of the Rock, for a Lioness, and her father understood that, even if her son was not being led down the right path. The Septas did not dare contradict her when she spoke, silent sister or no, she was Cersei Lannister, and she would be heard. Her reputation preceded her, and she was given a wide berth in the Starry Sept, thank the seven, of course she rarely saw anyone, but now she had a visitor and she was curious as to why the man had come before her. He looked foreign but she could not be certain.

The man sat before her, wore a doublet that fit snugly on his frame, his hair was short and it was golden just like her’s, just like Jaime’s. He reminded her slightly of Jaime in the way he held himself, strong and confident, and she found herself wondering how long it would take to charm him into her bed. Before she could pursue such thoughts the man spoke, and his voice was deep. “You must be wondering why I am here Your Grace. And I promise you that I shall inform you soon enough.”

Cersei looks at him surprised that he refers to her by her title, most here refer to her as simply Lady Lannister, or Lady Baratheon, not by her regnal title. That this stranger does so, at once makes her more alert and suspicious but also strangely relaxed. Feigning indifference she responds. “Yes, the thought had crossed my mind.”

The man smirks in response, and Cersei finds herself being drawn to him more and more. He definitely reminds her of Jaime, and she finds that she likes that, she likes that a lot. “So yes, first I shall introduce myself. My name is Denys Naharis, I come from Volantis, and it is my pleasure to have met you now. As you prepare for the second great stage of your life Your Grace.”

 _Oh very good, very good._ Cersei thinks to herself, the man has all the ease and grace that Jaime had and more. “And what is someone from Volantis doing here, in Oldtown, and in the Starry Sept no less? I was under the impression that Volantis was for the Red God?”

The man snorts. “I am not Volantis Your Grace, I am merely a man who has come to speak with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and to see how she is.”

If she were any other woman, Cersei would point out that she is not the Queen anymore, that will be the whore of Highgarden soon enough, but she is not any other woman, she is a lioness, a Lannister of the Rock and she has her pride. Smiling she responds. “Well then, tell me, why have you come to speak?”

The man Denys, if that is even his real name says. “Well for starters, the King granted his permission for the Stark girl to marry her bastard brother. As I am sure you know, the faith will soon be up in arms about that.”

Cersei merely nods. “I knew the King would allow that, why are you telling me that?”

“Because the time to bring down the bastard is now Your Grace. And if you give me leave I would see to it.” the man responds.

Briefly she thinks of asking the man why he is volunteering to help her, but her father had always told her to take advantage of any opportunity that came her way, and so instead she responds. “Very well, do it, and do it quick. What else?”

Now the man hesitates, or at least he acts hesitant, he is a far better actor than Jaime ever was, that much credit she shall give him, handsome as well, she can feel the fluttering of attraction beginning to flow through her, but for now she keeps them pushed down. Eventually the man responds. “I know Your Grace must be deeply troubled by being here, you have seen what Oldtown is becoming, the rise of the rats in their hovel and their work with birds they have no business consorting with. The King will be led by blind advisors, who seek to further their own ends. I have come with an offer to help free you from this present imprisonment.”

 _Has father already done what he promised me he would do?_ Cersei finds herself wondering. “And who is the man making this offer, you or your master, if there is one?” she asks carefully.

The man gives her another winning smile. “I am making this offer on behalf of my lord Your Grace. He thinks it is shameful that the King listened to a bastard over his own mother and wishes to ensure that you are returned to your rightful place.”

Cersei knows she should ask how he intends to do that, but the glimmer of hope that has been there since father spoke to her after her trial comes back now, flaring to life. “And what would you want in return?”

“What makes you think that my lord wants anything in return for doing his duty?” the man asks.

“Everyone wants something.” She says simply.

The man is silent a moment and then he stands. “Help, when the time comes he will want your help Your Grace.”

“With what?” she asks.

The man laughs and puts a coin down onto the table saying. “You will know in time.” And he walks past her and out of the room. Much later after he is gone Cersei looks at the coin and sees a faded emblem on it, from days long gone, and she curses aloud.


	80. Margaery II

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lady Margaery Tyrell**

King’s Landing was everything she had been told it would be, filled with vipers whispering sweet nothings into different people’s ears, cesspits filled with traps meant to kill oneself with. It was exhilarating, truth be told, Margaery was not sure how she had survived through her life before coming here. However, there was one thing that dampened some of her enthusiasm. The King was not here, the King was an interesting person, filled with layers of secrets that she felt she would never truly know, but he was not here, he had gone off to Brindlewood to see Lord Stark married off to his own sister- a thought that harkened back to the Targaryens of old, and she wondered what that meant for the King’s general policy- that he had not taken her with him was a sore point, and it was something she meant to rectify the next time she saw him. But as of late, she was not sure when that would be, and it was making her anxious. Clearly her grandmother could tell, for Lady Olenna had summoned her to her rooms, alongside her father.

“It does not mean anything Margaery, the King is a boy, and he is wont to do things that only boys do. Surely you can see that.” Mace Tyrell says, in the only way her father knows how, strongly sounded, but lacking in strength.

“Oh shut up Mace, that the boy did not take her with him, will be seen as many that they are not working well together. The former Queen in Oldtown will be told of this no doubt, and she will do things to try and end this marriage before it begins.” Grandmother responds.

Her father begins floundering like one of those puff fish, Margaery has heard so much about. “Mother, surely you do not think that Lady Cersei has so much power in Oldtown as she did here. For the love of the seven mother, Oldtown is ours.”

“No, it is Leyton Hightower’s. But that is not what I meant Mace,” grandmother responds, and then she looks at Margaery. “Now tell me child, what has the King been saying to you when you spend time with him?”

Margaery thinks for a moment and then says. “He mainly speaks about the things he likes. Nothing more than that, I listen intently and say the right things. I do not know what more I need to do grandmother.”

Her grandmother looks at her thoughtfully and then says. “You need to reciprocate or show your own interests Margaery. This boy is not like Renly; he has more fire in his belly. He has more guts in him I think, or he has air in his head, regardless, you must show him your interests. Perhaps it is time to let down some of the veil you have put up.”

“Doing that will get her killed mother.” Father says then.

“I am not an idiot father.” Margaery says before grandmother can speak. “I know how to act, and I know how to be genuine. If that is what is required, then that is what I shall be.”

Her father looks as if she has hit him hard, and not for the first time she finds herself wishing that Willas was Lord of Highgarden already, perhaps with him as their lord, there might be some semblance of sense left. Grandmother speaks then. “Yes, quite right as well. And now that the Starks have committed incest, well, there is nothing to it, we must be seen as supporting the King’s choice to support them. The Faith will rage, but the High Septon did what he did on my urging.” That takes Margaery by surprise, she had been under the impression that the High Septon was a Lannister puppet. As if sensing her surprise, grandmother says. “I know things about that man, that not even the eunuch could know.”

The mention of the eunuch brings a half remembered thought to Margaery’s mind. “Speaking of the eunuch, did your sources come to anything grandmother?”

For a brief moment Margaery thinks that she might have to remind her grandmother of their little search, and that thought terrifies her more than she’d like to admit, thankfully, her grandmother replies. “Ah yes, they did. It seems the eunuch has been doing more dealing than that little worm Baelish. Several dealings with a certain cheesemonger for certain. And I think there is a girl involved.”

That surprises Margaery. “A girl? Do we know who?”

Before grandmother can respond, her father interrupts. “It does not matter. The eunuch is far too dangerous to make an enemy of. He knows things about us that we do not want being revealed to anyone, most especially Tywin Lannister.”

“Tywin Lannister might be an issue, but the eunuch is the larger one.” Grandmother says. “As for your question Margaery, well I am not quite sure, but I think the girl might be related to him, he certainly has been paying a lot of attention to her, especially as of late.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Margaery asks.

“We do nothing.” Father says then, his voice blustering.

“No, we shall sit and watch, and make subtle hints here and there. Your father is right for once sweetling, we cannot antagonise the eunuch just yet. The King must be on your side when we make our move.” Grandmother responds.

“I do not think that this is right mother. We should not be getting any deeper into this than we already are.” Father responds.

Margaery cannot keep her tongue under control then. “You are the one who wanted me to be Queen father, why are you now stuttering?”

Her father looks completely stunned at her outburst, and she feels something akin to pride for that, however, before he can give a reply, her grandmother speaks. “Margaery is right Mace. You have put us here, now the time has come for us to show the Lannisters that we are here to stay. The Florents are dead for now, but they will not be dead for long. The King must be on our side, as must the eunuch. I think it is time to bring the Tarly boy here.”

“I… he is at the Wall.” Father says.

“Not for long he won’t be.” Margaery says smiling.


	81. Jon XXVI

**11 th Month of 299 A.C. Brindlewood Manor**

**Lord Jon Stark**

For the past few days, Jon had been living in bliss, waking up every morning next to Sansa, seeing her hair bloom out behind her, holding her, loving her, kissing her, doing everything with her, it had been perfect truly it had. Jon could not remember a time when he had been so happy as he was now. There was no more feeling of guilt or shame in loving her, none at all. That the people of the manor seemed so willing to accept their marriage as well was further reassurance if any was needed. Of course the presence of the King had made Jon wonder of the goings on outside of the manor, only briefly, for he was not quite ready to return to King’s Landing and the world of scheming that that entailed. But the King had asked for both he and Sansa to come to his rooms, and so there they were, the Kingsguard were around the King, the men of the city watch stood guard outside, Ghost and Lady were at their feet, and Jon knew something was going to happen, what he did not know, but he could tell.

The King looked solemn, his expression serious, his voice equally so. “Firstly, congratulations on your wedding. Married life suits you both.” He gives a little smile then that causes both Jon and Sansa to blush, they had not exactly been discreet about their love making he fears. “If I could I would spare you from coming back to reality for a few more days, but alas, the world is not perfect, and the time for bliss is coming to an end.” Jon does not like the sound of that, he entwines his fingers with Sansa’s and listens as the King goes on. “During your wedding ceremony, a message came from King’s Landing. From Lord Tywin.” The King looks as if he is struggling to get these words out, and Jon thinks he knows what the man will say before he says it. “It seems that Robb Stark is no more.”

Stunned silence follows, Jon can hear Sansa’s breathing quicken, his own heart is racing, somehow his voice remains calm when he asks. “How…how did he die Your Grace?”

The King does not respond immediately, instead he takes a deep breath and then replies. “He was murdered alongside some of his bannermen at Ser Edmure Tully’s wedding at the Twins.”

That hits him hard, really hard. “At a wedding? He was killed at a wedding?” Jon manages to get out, he feels as if he has been hit by a hammer blow, he always knew he’d need to deal with Robb, but for him to have been murdered at a wedding? That is something else. Beside him Sansa is taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but he can tell that she won’t last long.

The King seems to sense this for he says. “Perhaps it would be best if we discuss this some other time?”

Sansa though is having none of it. “No, I will stay and hear this Your Grace. I would know how my brother died, and who killed him.”

Jon sees the King look at him briefly, and then he continues. “Very well. From what I have been told, Robb Stark and his men as well as Lady Catelyn went to the Twins for Ser Edmure’s marriage to Roslin Frey. Whilst things were going well during the ceremony itself, afterward during the feast after Ser Edmure and his bride had been taken off for their bedding, the Freys struck then. Robb Stark was slain.”

Jon closes his eyes then, he has felt many things about his brother over the years, but he never wanted him to die, not like that, never, until recently he had never wanted Robb to die. He swallows, and then opens his eyes and looks to where his hand and Sansa’s are still entwined, then he looks up at the King. “Why did you not tell us before Your Grace?” he finds himself asking his voice hoarse.

The King does not say anything for the longest time and Jon begins to wonder if the man will ever respond, eventually he does respond and his voice is soft. “I did not wish to ruin your wedding Jon. This is not something one learns on their wedding day, even I know that much.”

Silence follows this, and Jon simply sits there, holding his wife’s hand unsure of what exactly to do with himself. Robb, Robb, his older brother is dead, murdered at a wedding, Jon has Winterfell now, but his brother is dead, and he does not know what to think. His brother, he loved his brother once, he still does, and now Robb is dead, and they will never see one another every again, gods that pain, that pain he feels now is growing ever stronger. Sansa interrupts the silence then to ask a question he should’ve thought of. “Do you know what happened to my mother Your Grace?”

“No, I am sorry my lady, but I do not. I have not been informed.” The King responds.

Jon sees Sansa’s face fall then, and he squeezes her hand reassuringly, surely the Freys would not murder a woman in cold blood? He laughs inwardly at that thought, if they would murder their King at his uncle’s wedding, why would they not murder a woman? Sighing he says. “Very well, thank you Your Grace.” He pauses knowing the King will want to speak with him more later, but not really feeling in the mood now. The King thankfully senses that and stands.

“You are free to leave my lord, my lady. And know that I am deeply sorry for your loss, you shall have your revenge.” The King responds.

Jon and Sansa rise, bow before the King, then rise and turn and leave the room. As soon as they get back to their own rooms Sansa collapses into his arms and cries. Jon tries to hold in his own tears, but they fall nonetheless, he mourns his brother’s passing, not the King’s, but the boy with snow in his hair. His brother, Robb Stark, the brother he loved.


	82. Tyrion VIII

****

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

The court was alive and bustling as preparations for the King’s wedding got well and truly underway, there was much and more that Tyrion had needed to do to ensure that such things went off well. Following Baelish’s death, Tyrion in his role as Master of Coin had removed the man’s cronies and replaced them with people who were actually good at their jobs, Baelish’s wealth had been seized and placed into the treasury whilst the money from the brothels he owned had been used to pay off some of the debts the throne owed. Still there was much and more that needed to be done, and Tyrion was not quite sure when things would be completely normal, of course the King had returned from Brindlewood and the marriage of Lord and Lady Stark, and it seemed that there was much and more he wished to say, no council meetings had been held since he had been back, but this time as Tyrion looked at the King he knew there would be much to say.

Knowing his nephew as he does, Tyrion speaks first. “Is Lord Stark not going to be joining us Your Grace?”

The King shakes his head. “No, Jon will be spending some time with his wife for now. I do not want him attending anything until he is ready and comfortable to do so. His brother’s death hit him harder than he thought it would.”

 _Ah yes, that little business at the Twins, father you fool._ Tyrion thinks to himself, his father had grown careless in his old age, of course Lord Tywin would never admit to such a thing. Seeing the King looking at him, he speaks. “Ah yes, a great shame that, a great shame.”

“A man like Robb Stark should have died with a sword in his hand, not at his uncle’s wedding. I will have Lord Walder’ brought before the courts if I have to for his great crime.” The King responds.

“Is that wise Your Grace?” Tyrion asks. “Whilst the man might have done something quite terrible, he did spare you an awful lot of hassle by removing Stark as he did. Some might say you owe him.”

The King grimaces then. “It is that thought that means I must ensure he is punished. The man broke a most sacred tradition and he must be punished for it. When Jon is ready, I shall send him northwards to deal with the fool and his brood. Having fewer Freys around will do the realm a world of good.”

“And the northmen will no doubt thank you for that. As will many of the riverlords. But Lord Tywin might not, neither will Lady Genna. She is married to one after all.” Tyrion points out.

The King snorts. “Lord Tywin will do what I tell him to do, otherwise his head will adorn a spike ontop of these walls. As for Lady Genna, she does not deserve Riverrun, she does not have a claim to it, nor does her shit of a husband. I will not break tradition for some idiot Frey.”

That surprises Tyrion, he had thought his nephew would be all for rewarding those who had supported him and spiting the traitors. It seems his nephew has really changed. “A wise plan, but what is there to say that the men you seek to keep placated do not simply turn on you?”

The King seems to consider this for a moment before responding. “They will owe their lives to me, and as such, I do not think they are such great fools as to think that they can get away with turning their cloaks once more. Robb Stark was a traitor and he was misguided, but he fought for what he thought was right. Lord Walder is a man who has no morals and nothing but greed in his heart. I shall remove him and his from power, and replace them with my own men.”

“And if Lord Tywin stands in your way? I know that he seeks to keep the man onside.” Tyrion asks.

“Then he shall die. Lord Tywin must learn who it is that keeps him alive here. He has done far too much to infringe on my authority already. I read your reports about what he did during the time I was away. He seeks to undermine my authority, and that is not something I can allow.” The King replies.

“And how will you do that Your Grace?” Tyrion asks curious. “Lord Tywin controls a sizeable force and his presence here has kept some of the more scurrilous lords at bay. How do you intend to make him see something his own friend the mad King could not get him to see?”

The King smiles and simply says. “I have my ways uncle.” That sends a shiver through him, and then the King speaks once more. “Now tell me, what other news is there?”

Tyrion thinks for a moment and then responds. “I have done as you commanded Your Grace. Baelish’s assets here in the city have been seized and placed into the treasury. It seems you were right, he had been hiding money from the books and from the coffers of the treasury. His brothels are now under the crown’s ownership and their money is being used to pay off debts the throne has incurred.”

“And how are the Iron Bank receiving this?” the King asks.

It takes him a moment to understand just what the King is asking him. When he does realise he replies in kind. “Through the means we agreed upon Your Grace. They are most grateful for the repayment. It should take another five or six lots before it is completely done.”

The King nods. “Good, you have done well Tyrion. When the time comes I shall not forget what it is you have done for me. Now I want word sent to the Vale, remind them that they must pay their taxes, or that boy who Lysa Arryn calls Jon Arryn’s son shall die.” With that the King rises and walks out of the room, leaving Tyrion alone to think through everything and to contemplate what is next for them all.

 


	83. Jon XXVII

****

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

“How are things progressing with the royal wedding Lord Tyrell?” Jon hears Lord Tywin ask, though the King is present, it seems Lord Tywin is determined to dominate the meeting, as always, and that is something that really angers Jon, the man is not King no matter how much he wishes he was.

Tyrell looks at the King briefly before focusing completely on the Hand. “They are progressing well my lord Hand. It appears that there will be enough room for all the guests that have been invited. And the cost is being kept to the requirements that you had asked for as well.”

Jon sees a look pass between the King and Lord Tyrion, and he knows then how that has been achieved, no doubt Tyrell has been told to keep quiet as well. “Very good my lord.” Lord Tywin says. It seems as if he might say something else then, but he seems to think better of it. “The royal wedding shall be one of the grandest affairs the seven kingdoms have seen for nearly sixteen years. I believe that it is only right that such a grand affair is met with a healthy dose of pageantry.”

There is a murmur of agreement around the room then, and the King speaks for the first time. “Of course my lord. And none here would disagree with you. However, there are more pressing matters that need to be addressed. For starters the issues within the city itself. Lord Jon, what reports do you have for us?”

Jon sees the slight look of irritation that crosses Lord Tywin’s face, and he somehow manages to keep from laughing, his voice is calm, his tone serious when he responds to the King’s question. “Well Your Grace, there have been many people coming from the Riverlands, fleeing from a war torn kingdom, coming here to the capital looking for work. Many of them are men, who lost their jobs during the war, and managed to survive the fighting and the bandits. Consequently, many of these men have been put to work in the city watch, and as such that has helped to reduce the amount of lawlessness within the capital. However, there was one incident which I think is somewhat worrying.” He pauses for a moment and then seeing the slight nod the King gives him, places a dagger on the table before him. “This dagger was found buried in one of my men. It bears the sigil of the Sons of the Dragon. It seems they have ventured forth once more.”

Before anyone else can speak, Lord Tywin does, his tone showing his disapproval. “I had thought they city watch had found the Sons of the Dragon and dealt with them accordingly.”

Jon clenches his hand into a fist, and takes a breath before responding. “We found many of their members but we were not told anything of note my lord, as you would have known had you listened when I gave my report to this council.” He sees a look of anger cross the old man’s face, and takes some deep pleasure from it. “Regardless, we are looking into this issue with a lot of purpose and hope to ensure that it is resolved as soon as possible.”

Prince Oberyn Martell, a new addition to the small council, taking his brother’s place as an advisor on the council speaks then. “A curious thing that, having the sons of the dragon here, when there is said to be something similar happening within Meeren where the dragon queen sits. One would think it is some sort of parody.”

There is some murmuring then, and Lord Tywin says. “The girl will not come to Westeros that much is clear.”

And whilst it seems there are those who would want to agree with the man, Prince Oberyn seems determined to have his point heard. “I disagree my lord. Do you not find it somewhat odd that such an organisation as the sons exists both here as well as there? It is almost as if they are mirroring the other’s actions in the hope of sowing chaos and destruction wherever they might lead. Perhaps I might be of assistance in the search for them?”

Jon can see the anger writ plain across Lord Tywin’s face, however, the King speaks then before anyone else can. “Yes, that would be most helpful Prince Oberyn, thank you.”

There is a moment of silence, and then Ser Kevan Lannister speaks. “Your Grace, perhaps it might be wise to now speak of the matter of the Riverlands?”

Jon watches as the King seems to ponder this for a moment, knowing all the while that the King had already made up his mind about the Riverlands. “Yes quite.” A pause and then he continues. “It seems that Ser Brynden Tully is holding out in Riverrun, as Lord Blackwood does in Raventree Hall. All others have so far accepted that they will be offering fealty to the Iron Throne. Those forces who are already laying siege to Riverrun, are being led by a most inept fool in Ser Emmon Frey, and as such I would see this matter resolved without more bloodshed.”

There is a moment’s pause and then Lord Tyrell speaks. “I am sure Lord Randyll would be more than happy to help end the siege of Riverrun and bring an end to the war of the five Kings Your Grace. He holds control over Maidenpool, and I know that Lord Mooton will not be venturing out in opposition anytime soon.”

“When Jaime returns he can bring an end to the siege.” Lord Tywin says, more as a matter of fact than anything else.

The King does not even glance at his grandfather when he responds. “Ser Jaime is gods knows where, and will take gods knows how long to get back to King’s Landing. The moment my wedding is done, I shall be sending another host out to end this siege, and I will entrust someone who I trust very much to lead the relief effort.” A pause and then the King continues. “Jon, you shall lead the force that sets out from King’s Landing to end the siege, and from there you shall head north.”

Jon can feel the eyes of the entire council on him then and so he merely lowers his head in acknowledgement and says. “Of course Your Grace.” Secretly, he feels a mixture of happiness and dread at the thought of returning home.


	84. Theon VI

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. Winterfell**

**Theon Greyjoy**

Ramsay had not left Hornwood yet, it seemed there was something pressing keeping him there, and Theon was glad of that, for it had allowed him a chance to shake off the things that had been holding him down. Now, well now he had the chance to make a difference, to make up for his failings. Robb, Robb was dead, and there was nothing he could do about that, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he thought that it was his betrayal that had cost Robb his life and his crown. He could not change the past, but he could help influence the present and the future and he was determined to do so. Asha had gone a couple of days ago to prepare for their departure, and now Theon was looking at Qarl the maid, a man he knew fleetingly well, but it did not matter he knew what needed to be done.

“Where are the rest of the men?” Theon finds himself asking.

“They are waiting within the Wolfswood Your Grace; they shall be there when we leave here.” The maid replies.

Your Grace, it feels strange to think of himself as a King, his father, well Balon Greyjoy had never really been a father to him, and yet now because of his birth and his father’s death, he was the rightful King of the Iron Islands. That was a strange thought. “Very well, I want everyone prepared to leave as soon as possible. Qarl, I want you looking out from the walls. I do not want the bastard coming up behind us. And where is Dagmar?”

“I am here Your Grace.” Dagmar Cleftjaw responds, the man who Theon views as his true father comes striding into the room smiling. “What do you want me to do Your Grace?”

Theon thinks for a moment, Dagmar had held Torrhen’s Square because he had asked him to, Dagmar had sent aid when it was requested, Dagmar had written to him when he was a little boy alone in Winterfell, Dagmar was everything his father was not, and for that Theon would always be grateful. Eventually he says. “I want you to come with me. Place some of your men under Qarl’s command and come with me, there is something we need to do.”

“Of course Your Grace.” The man replies. And soon enough there are orders being barked out and tasks carried out, it is a strange feeling this, knowing that people now have to do everything he says. It is a heady feeling, but he knows that it could just as easily disappear, and so he knows now that he cannot take it for granted, he still bears the scars from when he last took his power for granted.

Once the issue has been settled, Theon nods to Qarl and then walks out of the room, it is beginning to snow in Winterfell, and Theon knows that soon enough walking out of here, let alone running out of here would be near enough impossible, that is why he hopes the thing he is going to do now will be successful, it will be essential to what he has planned as well, to achieve his revenge for Robb’s death. They walk in silence, down the steps, and through the courtyard to where the cells are, and before entering them, Theon stops and turns to Dagmar. “Be careful now. No sudden movements, what we are about to do could harm us immensely if it goes wrong.”

Dagmar looks at him and laughs. “What are we doing here Your Grace?”

Theon takes a deep breath and then says. “We are righting a wrong Dagmar, and we are going to be making use of that.” With that he says no more and opens the doors to the cells. The stink hits him straight away, the smell of piss, of shit and of fear, he knows what the bastard had done here, and he finds that he cannot even consider himself noble, for he allowed it to happen, he screamed when he saw what had happened and he did nothing. He still has a small chance of righting that he hopes, a very small chance, but if he does not then they are lost. _Forgive me Robb, I should have done this sooner._ He thinks to himself, before walking toward the cell he needs to get to. He stops before the door, and peers in, two figures lie curled up on the ground, shit, piss and blood surround them, he swallows nervously, and then opens the door.

“By the drowned god, what in the names of Nagga is that?” Dagmar exclaims.

Theon looks at where his friend and mentor is looking and sighs. “That is who we have come to take with us.”

Dagmar looks at him then and asks. “Are you sure about that? I do not know if they can even stand.”

“We can stand alright.” A voice replies, cutting and brusque.

“Good.” Theon replies, his heart hammering. “Then stand.”

The figure stands, and helps the other figure stand as well, but the figure looks at him and asks. “What do you want with us?”

“We’re taking you out of here, to the islands, to somewhere safe.” Theon responds.

“Pah, do you really think they will let you leave here when they realise what you have done?” the figure asks.

“It matters not, most of the people who mattered are dead now or are missing. We must leave, and we must leave now.” Theon says.

The figure merely stares at him for the longest time before eventually saying. “Very well then.” They turn to the other smaller figure and whisper. “It’s time to go little lord. We must depart, but we will return.” The smaller figure whispers something and then the taller figure asks. “What of the wolf?”

Theon sighs. “It is out there somewhere. You will find your wolf Rickon, I promise you.”

 


	85. Jaime II

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

He had not been in King’s Landing for a year, and in that time much had changed. A war had been fought and won, depending on how one looked at it, he had been freed, and innocent children had died. That was always the way of war, children and innocents always got caught in the cross fire of it all, and they always perished. It was a sad state of affairs that but it was somewhat inevitable. Cersei had gone and got herself thrown into a septry in Oldtown from what he had heard, and for that he was somewhat grateful, even before the war, she had begun doing things which he found he just could not agree with, there was far too much wrong with her, with them for it to ever work. Still, it seemed that things were better now, and thanks to Brienne he had arrived in King’s Landing safely and with everything in tact. Now all that he needed to do was survive his meeting with his father and all would be well.

Lord Tywin was sat before him, looking as imperious as he always did, his expression did not show anything, did not give anything away, and Jaime wondered if he was happy that he was home or not. Still when the man spoke his voice sounded relieved, which was a surprise. “I trust that there was no trouble on your way back from Riverrun?” his father asks.

Jaime thinks of the close encounter he had with Vargo Hoat, and how he nearly lost his hand and shakes his head. “No, there was nothing that bothered us. Hoat seems to have gotten free of his leash though.”

“Hoat is dead.” his father replies. “I had him dealt with once his usefulness ran out. His companions are also dead. Now tell me, what did Lady Catelyn say when she released you.”

Jaime hesitates for a moment and then says. “She made me promise to get her daughters to safety, away from King’s Landing. She wanted me to bring them to Riverrun I believe.”

Lord Tywin’s face changes into what Jaime imagines might be a smirk, but it is gone too quickly for him to be certain. “Well the younger one might well be dead, as for the older one, our King saw fit to have her marry her bastard brother. So your oaths to the woman are null and void. What else did she ask you? Do not try to hide anything from me Jaime, she must have asked you something.”

Jaime hesitates for a moment and then says. “She asked me if I had pushed her son from that tower in Winterfell.”

Lord Tywin shakes his head and says. “The ramblings of women. Now, all of that is in the past. Robb Stark is dead, and his army is now with Bolton. However, the man will not last for long. The King has seen fit to send Jon Snow off to aid in the relieving of the Siege of Riverrun once the wedding is done, and then onto Winterfell. I want you to go with the boy to Riverrun to aid him in that siege, and to ensure that our interests are looked out for.”

“And what interests might those be?” Jaime asks cautiously.

His father looks at him as if he has grown a second head. “Why to make sure that it is our family that sits in Riverrun not Edmure Tully, and to make sure Stark’s widow is dealt with sufficiently.”

Jaime thinks on this for a moment and then asks. “And has the King been made aware of these interests?”

His father snorts. “The King is trying to act a man when he is no more than a boy. He will do as he is told and live with the decisions made in his name. Now, tell me, this Brienne of Tarth, will she do as a member of the court, or should I give her over to the Tyrells for justice?”

 _Father trying to appease the Tyrells? What have I missed?_ Jaime thinks to himself, aloud he merely says. “She says that she did not murder Renly, and I am more inclined to believe her than that runt Loras.”

His father nods. “Very well then. I am sure that Lord Selwyn will be happy to have his heir back. And now that you are here as well, you may resume your duties as my heir.”

That surprises Jaime then. “I…I… father, only the King can decide whether I remain in the Kingsguard or not.”

Again his father snorts. “The King is a boy Jaime, he will do what it is I tell him to do and nothing more. You are my oldest son, and you were forced into the Kingsguard against your will. You shall become my heir as you were always meant to be.”

Jaime stands there before his father, feeling as if he is nothing more than a boy again, caught in some wrong doing, he does not know what to say, or how to feel. “I…I… what of Tyrion?”

His father laughs, and that surprises Jaime even more. “Tyrion cannot be heir to the Rock, when he is not even a man. An imp can do nothing but be laughed at, and I will not have our family laughed at.”

 _I will need to speak to the King about this, it is my duty._ Jaime thinks to himself, aloud he asks. “What of Cersei?”

At that, his father’s face becomes cold and expressionless once more. “Cersei will be removed from her current imprisonment soon enough. And the bastard shall fall as well. I will not have the King tainted by a bastard’s whispering.”

Jaime merely nods, and then remembering something from his journey he says. “I was given this whilst in Harrenhal, I do not know who wrote it, but it seems right to give it to you now.” He places a scroll on the table in front of his father, who picks it up and reads it, then discards it.

“You did not see who gave it to you?” his father asks.

“No.” Jaime responds.

“Then forget it.” his father says. “It is nothing important. Now go, we are having a feast to celebrate your return.”


	86. Tyrion IX

**12 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

Having Jaime back was somewhat surreal, his brother had been gone for almost a year, well imprisoned seemed more fitting, and yet now here he was, sat at his side, living, breathing and whole. It felt good to have his brother back, but there was no Cersei now, Cersei would never be coming back to King’s Landing, not as long as there was still breath in his body. However, it seemed that Jaime was not here to give good news to the King or to him, indeed he looked somewhat pained, and Tyrion wondered what had caused that pain. He felt oddly protective of his older brother, which was strange considering that Jaime still had both his hands and was still the golden knight he had always been. As Tyrion looks at his brother, the King speaks. “So tell me Ser, what did Lord Tywin want with you?”

A strange look crosses his brother’s face then, but it quickly disappears. “He wanted to know whether or not Lady Stark had tasked me with anything before I was freed, and whether or not Brienne of Tarth is trustworthy or not.” Tyrion notes that his brother seems somewhat far away then, as he leans back and strokes his beard.

The King looks intrigued at this, and nods at Tyrion, and so he speaks. “And what did Lady Stark ask you to do when she freed you from your cell in Riverrun? I presume it was something to do with her daughters?”

Jaime takes a moment to respond and then he says. “She asked me to rescue her daughters. Made me swear an oath that I would not stop till I had rescued them. That’s why Brienne is here as well, she was sent to ensure that I fulfilled my oath.”

Tyrion looks at his brother, and then at the King and says. “Well I don’t think you’ll be able to fulfil that oath brother. Lady Sansa is married to Lord Jon, and we have not seen where Lady Arya is for a year now.”

“Naturally, though I do think that Lady Catelyn wanted her oldest daughter back the most. Something about not trusting the bastard Snow to protect her daughter.” Jaime replies. He pauses for a moment and then says. “She was convinced that you were using him to beat her son you know, Your Grace.”

The King laughs then. “The woman was always slightly odd, and Jon has done more good for Sansa than her brother or mother ever did for her. As for Arya, the girl is most likely dead somewhere, or with her dancing instructor, regardless, she does not matter. You are here now, and you will remain here until I decide otherwise.”

Tyrion sees the way his brother’s face changes then, and he knows, he just knows that their father is involved somehow. “What has father asked of you Jaime?” he asks softly.

“He has demanded that I go to the siege of Riverrun after the wedding to ensure that Emmon Frey takes his place as Lord of Riverrun, and after that he has said I am to become his heir. He would see me removed from the Kingsguard.” Jaime says.

“Lord Tywin forgets himself once more.” The King says. “Only the King can decide on these issues.”

Tyrion speaks then. “Lord Tywin is a man unto himself Your Grace, as I am sure you have learned by now. He thinks that because he is the Lord of the Rock, and the Hand he can to do whatever he wants, and that you as a minor cannot do anything to gainsay him. He has failed to realise that you are not Aerys, nor are you Robert.”

The King is silent a moment and then he whispers. “Tywin Lannister has done so much to undermine my gods damned reign.” There is a brief pause and then the King looks right at Jaime and says. “This Brienne of Tarth, who does she owe fealty to?”

Tyrion wonders why the King is asking that question and then he realises why. _He wants to use her in some way or the other, very clever Your Grace, very clever._ Jaime looks at the King a moment and then says. “To Lady Catelyn Your Grace. She will do what she set out to do, and nothing more.”

“Then it is your job to ensure that she sees how good Lady Sansa has it here, and furthermore, to get her to see that her cause is dead now. Unless she wants to go chasing a ghost, she would be better served remaining here, working for us.” The King says. There is a pause, then the King continues. “Furthermore, what do you actually want Ser Jaime?”

“Your Grace?” Tyrion hears his brother ask.

“Do you want to remain in the Kingsguard, or not?” the King asks straight to the point.

Tyrion sees his brother struggle with the question, and for a brief moment he wonders if Jaime actually does want the Rock, after all he joined the Kingsguard because of Cersei, and now she is gone, but what does he want? It is a curious question, and Tyrion waits for his brother to respond. Eventually, after what seems an age, Jaime replies. “The Rock is Tyrion’s right Your Grace. I swore vows to the Kingsguard, to the King. I intend to remain in the Kingsguard until I die.”

Tyrion breathes slightly easier after hearing his brother say those words, and he notices that Jaime does as well. The King seems to be smiling as well, a rare occurrence these days. “Very well, then you shall remain in the Kingsguard. And when Lord Tywin mentions it, I shall tell him what you said. And I expect you to say it as well.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Jaime responds, there is a pause then and then his brother asks. “What will you do about him Your Grace? Lord Tywin will not take well to this.”

The King smiles then, a proper smile that terrifies Tyrion. “Have no worry on that issue Ser, he shall be dealt with soon enough.”


	87. Jon XXVIII

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The sun was shining, and it was quite humid, one would not think that winter was coming. It seemed that the gods had decided to favour the King’s wedding with sunshine and heat, basking them all in light and glory. The ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor had been a long procession, something that Jon had found rather tedious, but something that had made the King’s grandeur apparent to all, he looked half a god in his clothes today, and his wife, the new Queen looked beautiful, not as beautiful as Sansa of course, but Jon did not think there was anyone who could look as beautiful as his wife. Now that they were in the throne room, and the wedding feast had begun, Jon found his hand straying further and further up his wife’s leg, and when she takes a hold of his hand he looks at her and grins wolfishly.

“Have you had a bit too much wine, husband?” his wife asks innocently, though he can tell she is thinking exactly the same thing he is.

“Perhaps, wife. Or perhaps the sight of such a beautiful woman at my side is making me think all kinds of thoughts.” Jon whispers.

Sansa blushes something fierce then and Jon leans over to kiss her cheek, he then pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear and hears her say. “What did you make of the ceremony in the Great Sept Jon? Do you think the Queen means the words she said?”

The question is one Jon has thought of himself a lot recently, he knows the King cares for his new wife, but whether the Tyrell girl is actually capable of caring for anyone is something he has not as of yet been able to identify. “I am not sure Sansa; I think she might have done. In the sense that she now has her crown, but whether she cares for the King, I do not know.”

“The King cares for her does he not?” Sansa asks softly.

Jon looks at the King and sees how he smiles and laughs. “Yes,” he replies. “He really does. But I do not know whether the Queen is capable of caring for anyone but her family. She seems too good at playing the game, and not good enough at showing her actual feelings.”

Sansa hums in agreement. “That is quite sad I think. That she can only show her true self to her close family and not even to her own husband. I do not think the King would like it if he knew that she was merely acting do you?”

Jon looks at his wife, and though he knows he should not be, he still finds it surprising just how observant she is. “Aye, I do not think he would like it at all. Has she said anything to you Sansa?”

His wife snorts. “Nothing other than to say that it is a shame that they did not get to me before you did. She was saying something about her brother Willas.” Sansa’s grip on his hand tightens then. “Even if I had not married you, I would not have married Willas. I will never be used for political means again.”

Jon brings his wife’s hand up to his lips and kisses it. “Of course not my love, and I will kill anyone who dares suggest anything of the like.”

Sansa smiles then. “My white knight in shining armour. Whatever would I do without you?”

Jon grins in response. “Well now that you have Brienne at your side I think you would be safe no?”

At that his wife’s face drops slightly. “I do not know what to make of her Jon. She swore an oath to mother, but I think she still thinks that she needs to fulfil that oath, and I am not sure what to do about her.”

Jon thinks for a moment and then says. “Send her to find Arya. We know that she was seen somewhere in the Riverlands, she can go and look for her and do her damned oath then.”

Sansa squeezes his hand then, but before she can respond, a hush falls over the throne room, and Jon sees Lord Tywin standing up, Jon does not like Lord Tywin, he thinks that the man has grown far too confident and overbearing in his old age, and as such is someone that needs to be taught his place. Still, he listens as the man speaks. “My lords and ladies, Your Graces, today is a celebratory occasion. It is not often that we have a royal wedding, and now that we are having one at the ending of two years of war, I think shows that the gods truly are with us. To the King and Queen, I wish you nothing but the best of health and many bountiful years together.” He raises his cup in toast, and so Jon and many others do so as well. “Long Live the King!” the man says before placing the cup to his lips and drinking.

Jon looks as the man takes a deep gulp of his wine before putting the cup down, he then shifts his focus to the King, and sees him staring intently at Lord Tywin, Jon wonders why he is doing that, but then his attention is captured by something else, a figure in the throne room, walking with an odd gait. It is almost as if the figure is not used to their own body and is trying to get to grips with it, that does not make sense, and just as he is about to stand up and find out more, he hears a retching sound. His eyes dart around and then come to rest on Lord Tywin who is clutching his throat, and making the most awful noise, spit and froth begins to come out of his mouth as the noise grows louder and louder, people are coming near him now trying to help but to no avail, Jon watches with morbid fascination as Lord Tywin falls down, retching and retching until he wretches no more.


	88. Tyrion X

****

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Tyrion Lannister**

The image of Tywin Lannister choking to death on his wine was ingrained in Tyrion’s mind, he did not think he would stop seeing that image until his own dying day. It had happened so suddenly, one moment the man had been drinking and fine, the next he had stopped drinking and then he had fallen to the ground foaming at the mouth. It was something else entirely, and it was strange, poison had evidently been used, but Tyrion was not quite sure who would use poison to remove Lord Tywin. The King wanted Lord Tywin arrested not dead, and so he was out, the Tyrells well they were now tied to the throne through Margaery Tyrell’s marriage to the King, and perhaps they might’ve dealt the blow, but then again, they were in favour of some of Lord Tywin’s policies. Oberyn Martell was the man Tyrion suspected the most, and he had the most reason to have the man killed, for revenge and all that. However, before he made any accusations he was curious to see what the King, uncle Kevan and Lord Jon had to say on the matter and so he sat in silence and listened.

“Pycelle definitely believes that there was poison involved in Lord Tywin’s death Your Grace. The strangler is what he is suggesting as the one that was used to do the deed.” Ser Kevan says, the man who was always in Lord Tywin’s shadow looks pale now, very pale.

“And does he know where someone might have gotten such a thing from? The guests were all searched before being allowed into the throne room.” Lord Jon says.

Tyrion remains deep in thought, but perks up when the King says. “It is possible for someone to sneak things in when they hide them in places where no one would think to look.”

“What do you mean Your Grace?” Ser Kevan asks then.

“There was a figure roaming around with a strange walk toward the end of the feast, did you see them?” the King asks.

“Aye, I did.” Lord Jon says.

“I did as well.” Tyrion says then.

“I think that person whoever they were was the reason Lord Tywin died.” The King says.

“But how would they have gotten the poison into his cup and not everyone else’s?” Ser Kevan asks.

“Quite simple really uncle.” Tyrion says. “The seating arrangements were known to all for many weeks before the wedding, and whoever the figure works for would have had access to them for some time. It would merely have taken a word here and a word there and there you have it, poison in the cup from which the Old Lion drank from.”

A moment of silence follows this statement and Tyrion knows they are all considering the implications of this, eventually Lord Jon asks the question they are all thinking. “Do you think Prince Oberyn might have had a hand in this?”

“Most definitely.” Ser Kevan says with some authority which surprises Tyrion, usually his uncle is quite quiet. “He has been wanting Tywin dead since the Sack of King’s Landing and he has made no secret of that.”

“It is exactly because of that, that I doubt he did this.” the King says then. “It is too obvious, no, I do not think it was him.”

“Who could it have been then Your Grace?” Tyrion asks curious.

The King seems to contemplate the question most thoroughly, and then he says. “I think it was the Sons of the Dragon personally. It suits them most well for Lord Tywin to die as he did. For it shows them that they now have an opening to try and sow chaos within my realm.”

“Who though?” Lord Jon asks. “We do not know precisely who their leader is, how can we conduct a trial if we do not know who their leader is?”

The King holds up a piece of paper then and says. “I received this a few moments before this meeting and I believe it is worth exploring. Someone believes that Lord Varys might well be the leader, or someone involved in the activities of the Sons of the Dragon, and if one thinks of how he acted whenever they struck, it does make sense.”

“Do you wish to go after the spider then Your Grace?” Tyrion asks cautiously.

The King seems as if he is about to nod his head in agreement, but instead he says. “I believe we must wait for some time. People will expect action and as such I think we must give them something to discuss. Find people who held grudges against Lord Tywin and use them as bait for the spider. From there we shall proceed.”

Tyrion nods and then Lord Jon asks. “What of the siege of Riverrun Your Grace, would you want me to continue forward with that, or remain here to oversee the proceedings?”

“The proceedings will not take long Jon. You can do them and then head to Riverrun.” The King says. He then looks at Ser Kevan and says. “You are now hand Ser Kevan, I shall address you with some issues once this meeting is done.” That surprises Tyrion, for he had thought for certain that the Stark boy would become Hand once Lord Tywin was done for.

His uncle merely lowers his head and says. “Of course Your Grace.”

The King then turns his attention to Tyrion. “You shall be venturing with Jon and Ser Jaime to Riverrun and from there to the Rock uncle.”

“Your Grace?” Tyrion asks surprised.

“You are now Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West, I expect you to take control over the Westerlands soon.” The King says. “And of course I expect you to chose a bride soon.”

Tyrion lowers his head. “Of course Your Grace. Is there anything else you require from me?”

“Not at this moment no. Go, enjoy yourself now Lord Lannister.” The King says, and Tyrion thinks he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he enjoyed hearing that title.


	89. Jaime III

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

His father was dead, Lords Tywin had died at the King’s wedding feast, and now he lay before Jaime on a plinth, golden in death as he was in life. The King’s greatest enemy and his greatest ally dead, Jaime did not know what to think. For so long he had thought that his father could not be killed, that his father would outlive them all, and yet now he was dead, gone, poisoned to death. Strangely enough Jaime did not feel any of the rage or anger he thought he would have felt, instead he simply felt numb. He had seen far too much death in his life to really care anymore. He had been the cause of many deaths over the years, and it did not affect him any longer, he was not sure it had ever done so. Tywin Lannister was gone and Tyrion finally had the Rock.

“Just as you always wanted brother.” Jaime says aloud then, not needing to look up to know his brother stands before him.

He hears Tyrion laugh. “Aye, and it is oddly unsatisfying knowing that I have it, but knowing that I only got it because he was poisoned.”

Jaime knows that he should feel something like anger at his brother’s words, but instead he does not. It seems Lord Tywin failed in one thing. “And would you rather have been the one to end him?” Jaime finds himself asking, curious as to how his brother will respond.

Unafraid as he always has been, Tyrion responds simply. “Yes. He made my life a misery Jaime, I wanted to end his.”

Jaime looks up then, his brother looks resplendent in Lannister crimson, he looks lordly in a different way to their father did, but there is just as much power around him as there was around Lord Tywin. “I see.” Jaime says simply, and then a comfortable silence falls between them as they both stare at Lord Tywin’s corpse, Jaime finds himself wondering whether Lord Tywin ever felt anything for anyone of his children, for so long it seemed as if they were merely pawns to him, pieces on a board that needed to be moved around for the benefit of the man’s ego. Such thoughts were he joined the Kingsguard and ruined the man’s plans, that and the temptation of Cersei’s cunt. But Cersei is gone now, and so is Lord Tywin, now it is just Jaime and his brother. He looks at his brother once more and asks. “Has Lord Stark found people for the trial then?”

His brother nods. “Aye, three people who have all confessed to doing the deed of poisoning father. Two men and one woman.”

“And do you think they actually did it?” Jaime asks. He thinks he knows the truth, but he learned long ago that sometimes speaking the truth and knowing it are two different things.

“I think that they believe they did it, and that is all that matters. There must be a trial after all.” Tyrion says.

“Who will sit as judges?” Jaime asks.

“Lord Stark, Prince Oberyn and Lord Tyrell.” Tyrion says.

“Not the King?” Jaime asks surprised.

“No, the King it seems has other matters he needs to attend to.” His brother says.

Jaime nods at that and then says. “I hear you are coming with me to the Riverlands brother. Are you going to be commanding a part of the army?” He has heard of his brother’s skills during the blackwater, and felt immense pride when he had heard of what he had done to save King’s Landing.

His brother shrugs. “I will do as the King commands. Once Riverrun is done, I shall head home to settle my affairs there before choosing a wife.”

Jaime feels slightly uneasy then, for he remembers what happened when Tyrion had his first marriage, a girl with brown hair and a certain complexion, something that he notes his brother has never looked for in a girl ever since. Guilt about his words and actions during that time, and the things he did afterward are somewhat haunting him even to this day, and looking at his brother’s face, he thinks they haunt his brother even more so. Swallowing down his nerves, he asks. “And who are you thinking of choosing?”

“Alysanne Lefford.” His brother says immediately. “She is Lady of Golden Tooth since her father died, and I intend to claim the wealth of the Tooth for my own.”

“A smart choice, though I am sure the Tyrells will now look to foist one of their many family members onto you, in the hopes of getting a Tyrell as future Lord of the West.” Jaime says.

Tyrion gives him a crooked grin then. “They already tried, or rather Tarly tried.”

“Tarly?” Jaime asks surprised.

“Aye, he offered me his daughter Talla I think her name was, said he was hoping to secure an ally in the time to come.” Tyrion says amused.

“What did you say in response?” Jaime asks.

“I told him I would think about it.” Tyrion replies.

“And will you?” Jaime asks.

“Yes. Tarly is a powerful man, he commands in the field when the Tyrells fight, it would be foolish not to consider his offer seriously. And anything that undermines the Tyrells can only be good for us.” Tyrion says.

“Unless the Queen goes talking to the King.” Jaime points out.

“She won’t do that. Not if she knows what is good for her. The girl is not the father thankfully, and besides, I think Lord Mace’s time is soon coming to an end.” Tyrion says.

Jaime looks at his brother and asks. “What makes you say that?”

His brother grins. “Let’s just say a little bird told me that all is not well within the Tyrell camp, and that there are rumours that Lord Oaf might well be removed from power sooner than we had thought, and without our prompting.”


	90. Jon XXIX

**1 st Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The trial to bring those who had murdered Lord Tywin Lannister was now in session. The King had once more excused himself for overseeing the trial, due to Lord Tywin being his grandsire, and that was something Jon could understand, that the King had laid the final decision with him was something he felt honoured by, for it showed that the King truly respected him and trusted him to make the right decision for the Kingdoms. The accused were two men and one woman, all from King’s Landing itself, and all had some association or the other with the Sons of the Dragon, a group that was quickly becoming a pain and a thorn more than a nuisance. Jon looks out over the crowd gathered in the throne room for the trial, with the Iron Throne looming large behind him, all the notables of court are present, and as such, Jon decides that the time has come for the trial to begin.

Clearing his throat Jon speaks. “Order within the throne room.” Silence falls immediately, and Jon feels some form of power course through him, and he finds that he likes that. “We are gathered here today, to pass judgement over two men and one woman who stand accused of murdering Lord Tywin Lannister. Evidence shall be presented that sees them accused of their crime, whilst they shall have the chance to present their defence. Myself, Prince Oberyn and Lord Mace shall preside over the trial and shall reach a judgement based on what we are presented with. Ser Marston Waters is given the floor now to present arguments for the throne.”

Waters was a young man and had replaced Jeyne Poole’s love as the head justice under Jon after the latter had disappeared from King’s Landing, or had died, Jon was not quite sure on the issue. He walks forward and speaks. “Thank you my lord. The accused who stand before you all, have been placed in known hide outs of the Sons of the Dragon, planning and plotting an event such as what happened during King Joffrey’s wedding feast. Their motive was to remove Lord Tywin, to ensure that there was chaos and destruction within the wedding.”

“And why would they want that to happen?” Prince Oberyn asks sounding intrigued, Jon is not sure what to make of the Prince, there is something to him that suggests he knows more than he lets on, and besides Jon knows that he was one of the main people who would’ve wanted Prince Oberyn dead.

Ser Marston continues speaking. “Because they believed, wrongly that by having Lord Tywin murdered, the alliance that holds the Lannisters and Tyrells together would falter and break. They hoped to use Lord Tyrell’s desire to see his daughter as a Queen as enticement to bring him to their side.”

As expected, Tyrell speaks then his voice filled with bluster. “And naturally they failed.”

The hall is completely silent as they wait with baited breath for Waters to respond. “Yes my lord. My men and I found twenty papers that indicated what these three accused were planning on doing and how they planned on doing it. They mapped out the seating arrangements of wedding feast, and ensured that they were working within it at the time of the toast. None dared question them when they were given papers and presented with the royal seal, and furthermore, none thought to look twice.”

“Do you know who gave them the royal seal?” Jon asks.

Waters shakes his head. “Unfortunately I do not know that, though I have reason to believe that it came from someone who stole it long ago.”

 _Baelish, he had his hands everywhere._ Jon thinks to himself, and yet Baelish is dead and so the question remains, and yet that is not the main issue here, so instead of focusing on that he says. “Very well thank you Ser, I would hear from the accused if my fellow judges have no questions?”

Tyrell shakes his head, but Martell speaks. “How long did it take you to find all of this information? The Hand died at the beginning of the year, and now we are only three weeks in, it has not taken as long as it did to deal with the former Queen.”

Waters holds firm under the scrutinising gaze of the judges, and for that Jon has to give him credit, eventually the man replies. “We are better prepared this time my prince. We know where to look and who to look for.”

“Indeed, it seems you do. How very efficient.” The Prince says.

There is a moment of silence as Jon waits to see if anyone else has anything else to say, when it appears that no one does, he speaks once more. “Very well, do the accused have anything they wish to say in their defence?”

Nothing is said for a long time, and then one of the men walk forward, he has silver hair and violet eyes, a dragonseed, but which one is a difficult thing to answer, King Aerys was known to sleep around before he died, and this man looks no older than Jon’s own father would’ve done at this point. His voice is strong and calm when he speaks. “We are doing what the people are looking for. The false King has brought nothing but war and suffering to Westeros, just as his father did. We are doing what we can to free the kingdom from the shackles stags and lions have placed on her. The Wolves are no better though they were different once. Now we must do what none else dare do.”

“You are committing treason.” Jon says simply.

The man spits at Jon and it lands before him. “Pah, treason to a false King is not treason at all. You might remove us, but there are more of us, and we shall keep coming until the false King and his family are all dead. Long Live the Dragons.”

Jon ignores the man’s words and says. “The King finds you guilty of treason and for the murder of Tywin Lannister. Your sentence is one of death.” As he stands, the three figures are pushed to their knees their heads lowered, he has passed the sentence and he shall swing the sword. He takes Ice from Jory, and gripping it in both of his hands he moves towards the first person, a man aged no older than Jon, Jon takes a moment to gather his thoughts then he swings his sword, in one blow the man’s head is removed. He does the same to the man who spoke, and then he comes to the woman, her hair is dark and colourful, and he thinks he knows her but he does not know how. She stares at him for a moment and then her head is forced down and he swings the sword, as Ice touches her neck he hears her whisper.

“The game continues Jon, and now you will suffer for it.” her head falls to the ground, her lips still moving.


	91. Theon VII

****

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Pyke**

**Theon Greyjoy**

It was strange, for so long he had craved to be Lord of Pyke and Lord of the Iron Islands, he was not ashamed to admit that he had thought about removing his father from his seat when he had visited oh so long ago, but now that he was Lord of Pyke and Lord of the Iron Islands, it felt strange. Theon watched as his father’s pyre moved out into the water, and he felt nothing, no sadness, no anger, no remorse, only emptiness. It seemed that it was true then, Eddard Stark had been more of a father to him than his own had, and how had he repaid the man? By taking Winterfell and giving it to a Bolton. That was something he intended to amend when the time was right. For now, though he was content to watch the burning pyre that was his father drift out into the water, knowing that Balon Greyjoy could not haunt him now or anymore. The man was gone, and so was his gods damned anger. A strange thought really, but one he was growing used to.

Eventually, he turns away from the pyre and begins walking back to the castle, his castle, after all these years, the castle is his now, his to do with as he pleases. Asha interrupts his thoughts then. “What do you plan on doing now Your Grace?”

Even though he does not think of himself as a King, he is, and he has a weight on his shoulders now, a weight that will not go so easily. “I will celebrate father’s life, and we shall discuss what needs to be done next.”

“If I might make a suggestion Your Grace.” Asha asks.

Theon snorts. “We both know that you will say what you think, regardless of what I say. So say what you will.”

“I do not think using the Stark boy is a good idea right now Your Grace. The men still have memories of the difficulties that we faced in the north, they will not be so willing to go back there once more. Furthermore, father left you with a lot of work to be done within the islands themselves, dancing off to war now is not a good idea.” Asha says.

Theon stops walking then and looks at his sister. “You think I do not already know this Asha? I know very well that father’s foolishness in attacking the north has cost us in time and resources, but the men will want me to show myself, and I cannot do that by sitting on my arse. You know that just as well as I do. We have Rickon Stark, we have a trueborn son of Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, those two names will be enough to bring some support to our venture. We must try.”

“And what will you do if the northmen do not come to the boy’s side? They might well see him as an Ironborn puppet, and you know better than most that northmen do not like puppets. Furthermore, the boy is exactly that, he is a boy, Jon Stark is a man who has proven himself in battle, they might well go to his banner instead. Then there is Bolton.” Asha says.

“I know that, I am not a fool Asha. I know all of what you have said, I have considered just as much as you have. But I say that something must needs be done to ensure that the Ironborn do not leave me. I cannot allow them to remain stagnant. There was one thing that father was right about, allowing them to remain stagnant means that they will get ideas, I must give them something to focus on.” Theon responds heatedly.

Before Asha can respond, a gruff voice cuts in. “Then give them a new target to focus on Your Grace.” Dagmar Cleftjaw, the one man who did not abandon him in the north says.

Theon looks at the man and asks. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that the north is now a death trap for our men. Anything that is of value is too far from the sea to make it worth getting to. There are two places that are worth more, those are the Reach and the Riverlands. The Reach still has its strength as well as the Redwyne fleet, whilst the Riverlands has been depleted due to the war within its lands. Furthermore, raiding the Lannister strongholds there creates a scenario in which you are seen as the good guy. Use the boy there, and you might have more success there.” Cleftjaw says.

“An interesting suggestion.” Theon says thoughtfully. “But the Tullys rule in the Riverlands, not the Starks, why would they rally to the boy?”

“Because they want their freedom just as we do.” Dagmar says. “The Young Wolf was a cunt, but he was their cunt, give them his brother, who was not tainted by the Lions and they might well see it as a more profitable option.”

Theon thinks over this and looks at his sister. “What do you think of this?” he asks.

“I think that Dagmar is right Your Grace. I think taking the men to the Riverlands would be a smart thing to do. It will give them something to focus on, and furthermore, an alliance might be struck that could be to all of our benefits.” Asha says.

Theon thinks on this for a moment and then says. “Very well then, we shall venture into the Riverlands. But I shall want letters sent out to the Riverlords, I will not go in blind like father did. I will not make the same mistakes that father did. And I want the fleet prepared properly. We shall need every ship we can take to make this work.”

Theon sees his sister bow. “Yes Your Grace.”

“Good you may go.” Theon replies, and as he watches his sister hurry away, he turns to Dagmar and asks. “What happened to Botley?”

“Dead as you asked Your Grace.” Cleftjaw responds.

“Good. The Maid shall be Lord Botley before this day is done.” Theon says.


	92. Daenerys I

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Meereen**

**Queen Daenerys I Targaryen**

It had been three hundred years since her ancestor Aegon the Dragon had conquered Westeros, he had done it with three dragons and his two sisters and a small army to help him. He had made Westeros whole, and now a Baratheon sat where her ancestor had once sat, where her father had once sat, and it angered her. The Baratheons had been raised up by her family and they had betrayed them, that was wrong she meant to right, but she did not know when she would get the chance to. Things within Meereen were growing ever more problematic, and she was not stupid enough to believe that this was not all her fault, she knew there were things that she could have done differently, but she also knew that doing those things would not have sat well with her, and truth be told she had needed the experience to learn how to rule. As she looks out around her, and sees the ships and the siege engines, Dany cannot help but wonder where it all went wrong. She turns to her bear then, the ever faithful Ser Jorah.

“Do you think I have done the right thing Jorah?” She asks.

“Your Grace?” her bear asks sounding surprised.

She gestures to the situation before them. “Do you think I was right to refuse the Yunkai forces a chance to take this city as they did to their own?”

“Yes. I believe that you did the right thing, and I know I am not alone Your Grace.” Ser Jorah says. “If you had let the Yunkish forces into Meereen, you would not have been allowed to live, and those you had freed would have been put into chains once more. You have spared the city a great evil.”

“But then why do I feel as if I have made a great mistake, and that we are all paying for that mistake now, and that we shall continue to pay for it?” Dany asks. “Why is it then that the Sons of the Harpy continues to harry my people, that they continue to kill people who have done no wrong to them? Why do they keep doing that?”

“Because the Sons of the Harpy are part of the old regime, and they do not understand that sometimes change needs to be brought about for there to be development. You saw what Meereen was before you came Your Grace, do you truly think you could have allowed such a thing to continue?” Ser Jorah responds.

Dany is silent for a long time after her bear’s question, thinking through everything that he has said, and trying to decide what she would have done if she had the opportunity to do something differently, the more she thinks about it, the more she knows that she would not have changed anything. “I think I did the right thing Ser. In fact, I know I did. Slavery was not doing anything to help Meereen, and regardless of what the families in their pyramids think, the common people are happy, I know that. The Sons of the Harpy are a blight on this place.”

“And how do you plan on dealing with them Your Grace?” Ser Jorah asks. “They have been growing ever stronger and despite what he promised, your marriage to Hizadhar has not brought more peace, only more war.”

 Dany bites her lip then, unsure of how just to reply. She knows that Hizadhar had promised much and more, but he had not actually delivered, or it seems that he has not seemed to deliver, she is not sure what to do with regards to him, she knows that if she goes to Westeros, taking him with her would be only a weight on her shoulders not a bonus. Sighing, she looks at Ser Jorah and says. “I will not allow the Harpies to continue troubling my people, nor will I allow the families to trouble my people. If I have to I will use the dragons to destroy them.”

Ser Jorah seems troubled by this. “I do not mean to question your judgement Your Grace, but do you think you can control all three dragons? You have just about managed to control Drogon, but all three at once? How will you do that?”

Dany thinks over her bear’s question, and thinks back to the dreams she has been having, of a figure shrouded in black channelling power, such power as to make her scream whenever she sees them, she does not know who this figure is, but she feels as if she does, as if she has known them her whole life. Looking at her bear she says. “I will have to try, I cannot unleash them without trying first, before the drums of war sound truly.”

“And do you not think the harpies will become aware of this? We do not know how they come to know of your plans. Only two people could really be telling them.” Ser Jorah says.

Dany stares at her bear then, truly stares at him, as if by doing that she could stare right into his soul, sometimes she wishes she could, but then again she is not a seer, only a girl who is trying to rebuild an empire. “I do not think that the commander of the Brazen Beasts is reporting to the Harpy, whoever that might be, but I do think my husband might know something. Regardless, that is not important right now, I shall use my dragons to break the enemy, and I will ensure they never rise again.”

“How will you do that Your Grace?” Ser Jorah asks.

Dany takes a deep breath, knowing what she has to do, and not liking it one bit. “I shall have to do something that has not been done since the time of the Freehold. I shall become one with my dragons, and I will become the dragon. As I was always meant to be.”


	93. Jaime IV

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Outside Riverrun**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

It felt good to be back out on the campaign trail, even if this campaign was to be a short one. Jaime had never been made for sitting still or travailing in politics, he was made for fighting, for swinging his sword at one man or another, cutting them down until he was the only one who was left. That was what counted to him, nothing else, and so he had gotten involved in the planning for the siege with Stark, and he had also planned for overriding the Freys, they were fools who would only drag this siege out if left to their own devices. His oath to Catelyn Tully was one he remembered well, and it was one he planned on keeping, though as time wore on, even though they’d only been within the camp for some two days, he was already growing annoyed with the Freys. They really were fools. Lord Stark was with his wife right now, which was a good thing for it left Jaime time to talk with his aunt and uncle alone.

“Tell me Uncle Emmon, can you not control your own family? They are here under your command and yet I’ve had to stop a fight breaking out at least three times already. Why are you even here if not to ensure that something gets done?” Jaime asks.

Ser Emmon looks offended then. “I am here to claim what is mine by right and by conquest. Black Walder will do as he does, but now that you are here surely things will get resolved more easily.”

“Speaking of which,” his aunt Genna chimes in then. “With the Stark boy here, alongside his sister, do you think that things will go smoothly? After all, it is her uncle’s castle that we are laying siege to and will be claiming. I do not know about you, but if I were her, I’d want to kill all of us for that.”

Jaime snorts then. “Of that I have no doubt, though the girl is more here because she wants to return home, nothing more nothing less.”

“And the Stark boy? You know people are talking about him a lot. Considering who his brother was, and how quickly he has risen in the King’s graces, what is there stopping him from trying something?” Genna asks.

Jaime looks at his aunt then and asks. “Have you actually spoken to him?”

His Aunt is silent for a moment and then she shakes her head. “No I have not. Then again I have not seen him for longer than five minutes. Tell me Jaime, how has he managed to avoid killing half the idiots here?”

Jaime thinks over this for a moment, considering the question and then he says the first thing he can really give as a true justification. “His wife, she might be his sister. But she is also a calming influence on him. I would not rule out any sort of retribution for what happened at the Twins, but it is there.”

“You know Tywin ordered that happen.” Genna says. “He always was one for the dramatics was your father, though he would never truly admit it.”

Jaime snorts. “Aye, though I imagine that Lancel has taken the lead with that one. He has not even bedded his wife, and Darry is teeming with Freys.”

Jaime thinks that it is highly indicative of who is in control between his aunt and Emmon Frey, that despite the words he had just said, Frey says nothing to rebuke him. Indeed, Genna laughs and so does Emmon. “Well of course, they are more than likely waiting for Lancel to kick the bucket and then they shall move forward.” There is a pause then, and then his aunt says. “Emmon why don’t you head out for a bit; I have family business to discuss with my nephew.”

His uncle does not even protest, he simply rises and walks out of the tent, once he is gone, his aunt looks at him and asks. “Tell me Jaime, how safe am I?”

Jaime looks at his aunt in surprise. “I told you before, Stark won’t attack you, his wife will keep him under control for now. Whether or not he does the same for the other Freys who are here, I do not know. But your family has their uses.”

His aunt laughs then. “You sound exactly like Tywin. So tell me nephew, what use do we have for the Stark boy as well as the King?”

Jaime is silent for a moment, he is not sure why he brought this up, he is not the political sort, had deliberately allowed Cersei to fuck him into the Kingsguard when he had been younger so that he could avoid this sort of thing, but now, here he was planning and preparing something similar. “You will not be getting Riverrun, not yet anyway. The King wishes for you to be ruling the Twins. You will come with us to take the Twins from Walder Frey and the others.” He lowers his voice then and says. “There is going to be a lot of fighting soon enough aunt. I would recommend you keep this silent from your husband, I do not want anyone else knowing until the time is right.”

His aunt is silent for a long time after he has finished speaking, and Jaime finds himself wondering what she is thinking, for it is not clear on her face, but eventually she nods her head. “Very well then, and might I ask, why is it that we are not getting Riverrun now? Tywin did say that was what we’d get.”

“The King is not father; he needs the Tullys for there to be peace within Westeros. And so you get the twins and he keeps Riverrun. Fear not there is more on the cards for you. Harrenhal for starts.” Jaime says.

His aunt laughs then. “Oh how delightful.”


	94. Jon XXX

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Outside Riverrun**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The Freys were an aggravating bunch of people, they were always bickering and complaining, there had been fights outside the siege camp which had resulted in deaths, and there was more and more tension building within the camp. Jon had managed to avoid killing anyone so far, mainly thanks to Sansa, his wife had been the one person to whom he could trust not to venture forth into anger or grand pronouncements of vengeance, which was ironic, considering she was the one who could truly justify such things. Still, they had managed to end the ceaseless fighting amongst the Freys enough to bring Ser Brynden Tully, a man whom Jon really respected out to treat with them. Edmure Tully was at Jon’s side as they watched the man who was known as the Blackfish advance forward, he looked every inch a warrior despite his advanced age, and when he stopped before Jon, he felt slightly intimidated.

Clearing his throat, Jon speaks clearly. “Ser Brynden, welcome and thank you for coming forth from Riverrun to speak with us. As I am sure you are aware, the time for war is over. Bend the knee now and accept the King’s peace.”

The man looks at him and then turns to Ser Edmure at his side. “How have they treated you, nephew?”

“Well enough, better since Lord Jon here came about. Listen to what he has to say uncle.” Lord Edmure says.

The man looks at his nephew and then looks at Jon, contempt writ on his face. “You know my niece always said you would betray her family, and it seems she was right. You fought alongside the bastard on the throne, instead of your own family. What sort of man are you?”

Jon grits his teeth, and tries to calm his anger, Ghost is at his side, and it would not do for the wolf to harm Ser Brynden. After a moment he speaks more clearly. “I did what I thought was right. Robb went to war over the wrong issues, King Joffrey did not kill our father. Robb did nothing to aid us.”

Ser Brynden laughs. “Is that the justification you are using then boy? You betrayed your brother, and your family because the boy on the throne did not kill your father? He as good as killed Lord Eddard, he did nothing to stop those who tried to kill him, now did he?”

Jon clenches his hand into a fist and then forces a breath out of his body. “I have not come here to discuss the past Ser. I have come here to make you an offer from the King himself, you can either here me out, or I will destroy your army right now.” The words are harsh and he hates himself for saying such things, but he knows he needs to show strength for what needs to come.

The Blackfish looks at him and laughs loudly. “Oh yes, I can see more of your uncle than your father in you, boy. So tell me then, what are these terms?”

Jon hesitates for a moment then, unsure of just how to proceed now that they have reached this point, he glances at Ser Edmure out of the corner of his eye and when the man nods, he speaks. “The King has decided to rescind Lord Tywin’s declaration of Riverrun going to Ser Emmon Frey, indeed, he has seen fit to give Riverrun back to Lord Edmure, in return for his and your oaths of fealty. Furthermore, the portions of the Riverlands that were conquered during the war shall be returned to Lord Edmure and recognised as his. Finally, the King wishes for you to hand over Robb’s wife.”

There is a moment of silence and then Ser Brynden asks. “And if I refuse?”

“Uncle!” Lord Edmure exclaims.

Ser Brynden looks at his nephew and then back at Jon. “I promised my King that I would protect his wife with everything I had, I do not break my promises. So tell me what happens if I refuse?”

Jon sighs, he knows that this had been a possibility, but he had not wanted it to come to this, to spare Sansa. “Then we shall destroy you.”

The Blackfish looks at him and laughs once more. “Tell me boy, how will you do that? You might have more men than I do, but Riverrun can last far longer than you can in a siege, and you do not have the means nor to know how on how to break us from within.”

Jon stares at the man, the man whom he had looked up to as a child and he says softly. “We have your lord and his wife. Do you think your men will fight if they know that?”

There is a moment’s silence and then Ser Brynden looks at his nephew and asks. “Edmure, you are my liege lord, I shall follow your wishes on this matter. What do you wish for me to do?”

Jon looks at the man who is his wife’s uncle, and he sees the hesitation writ clearly on the man’s face, not for the first time Jon wonders whether or not he erred in not making things more clear to Robb, perhaps they could’ve avoided this whole mess. But there is also a small part of him that thinks that perhaps this mess could not have been avoided that it was destined to happen, it is a sad thought, but perhaps a realistic one. Eventually, Lord Edmure speaks. “Bend the knee uncle. Lower the flags and open the gates. No one needs to die now.”

“Actually, the Freys need to die. I will not allow them to remain alive, and breathing, not whilst my niece and King lie rotting in the ground.” Ser Brynden says.

Jon smiles then. “Well you are in luck then Ser, for your revenge is soon in coming.”

“How soon?” the man asks.

Jon draws Ice and Ghost howls. “Now.”


	95. Theon VIII

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. Hag’s Mire**

**King Theon Greyjoy**

It had taken some time for him to work up the nerve to tell his lords what they were going to be doing, and once he had, they had been oddly receptive to the idea. Truth be told as he looked back on it now, Theon did think that perhaps they were just relieved not to have to go traversing back to the north once more, Roose Bolton and the Freys had gone north and as such it seemed they were facing issues there, issues that Theon was happy to leave to them. He had his plan, and he knew that he would be able to make it work, once Jon saw Rickon, then they would be able to work together, he knew it, he just knew it, the bastard would never deny his trueborn brother his birth right. Theon was counting on that, just as surely as he was counting on the presence of the Iron Fleet to intimidate Jon, and now as he sat across from the man in his tent, he wondered if he’d been right in his estimations.

Theon looks at Jon and says. “You’ve grown more muscular Stark, good to see that the years have been kind to you. Now you no longer look like a woman.”

Stark simply stares at him instead of replying and then eventually he speaks, his voice filled with barely contained rage. “What do you want Theon?”

Theon looks at the man, assessing him and seeing where he might be best served to press, and where he might be best served to leave alone. “Well, I have come to offer you something Stark. Something that I do not think you could refuse.”

“And what would a Kinslayer and oathbreaker be able to offer me?” Stark replies, his voice filled with contempt.

Theon bites his lip then, anger growing inside of him. “Funny that. At least I fought alongside Robb when the war started. Where were you? With the bastard boy, and fucking your own sister? Tell me Jon, who is the traitor now?” Stark’s face contorts with rage, and Theon smiles. “Oh? Have I hit a nerve there? Do you not like being reminded of how you proved Lady Catelyn right? You know she was always convinced you were going to turn traitor on her family, and you did, you really did. So tell me, who is the oathbreaker now?”

Stark looks at him with anger clear in his eyes and in his heart. His words are sharp when he replies. “I did what I thought was right. I fought for the person I believed to be the rightful King. People like you led Robb to his death. It was your betrayal that killed him. Tell me Theon, how could you kill Bran and Rickon? You grew up with them, they were like your brothers. How could you do it?”

Anger flows through Theon at the bastard’s words, white hot anger, taking a deep breath, he manages to calm himself before replying. “I did not kill them. The Bastard of Bolton did. I did not want them dead. And besides, one of them is not dead. Rickon is alive Stark, and he is here.”

The words have their desired effect, for Stark looks completely taken aback by this revelation, his voice is barely controlled when he speaks. “Rickon is here? Why should I believe you?”

“Look at your wolf Stark.” Theon says. “He has been acting odd since you came here has he not? Now shall I tell my people to bring your brother before you or not?”

Stark looks as if he is torn between wanting to kill Theon and wanting to sing his praises, it is an odd feeling this, being in control. Eventually Stark nods. “Bring him here.”

Theon nods and turns to his squire and says the words, silence falls over them then as they wait for the boy to be brought to them, when he is Theon hears Stark take a sharp inhalation of breath. The boy’s wolf is there as well, an uncontrollable beast, who charges towards Stark’s white wolf and as the two get involved in a scuffle, Theon looks at Stark and says. “You see; I was not lying. We both know who this boy is, now are you willing to talk?”

Stark looks at the boy before them for a moment longer, as if drinking him in, and then he turns to Theon and asks. “What do you want from me Greyjoy?”

Theon smiles. “Why, your alliance of course.”

“My alliance?” Jon asks sounding confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well now that you know that your brother is alive, you cannot surely in good conscious continue fighting in your own name. The northern lords will not rise for you when they realise he is alive, and you can confirm it. So I propose an alliance. I will help you retake the north for your brother, and in return you will get the King to give me land.” Theon says.

Stark looks at him and then asks. “What land do you want?”

“I want the Shield Islands and I want lands within the West. I will ask for this peacefully, and hope that the boy on the throne has common sense. Furthermore, I will ask he acknowledges the independence of the Iron Islands. We are a free people and shall not be subjugated to the throne.” Theon says.

Stark looks at him for a long moment and then says. “You ask a lot Greyjoy, and give little in return. Why should I believe anything you say? You betrayed Robb, you might well betray me and the King.”

Theon looks at Stark and laughs in contempt. “You cannot hope to take the north on your own now that you know Rickon is alive, for others know as well. So tell me Stark what will it be?”

Silence follows his question, and just as it seems that Stark is about to respond, a breeze fills the tent, and a figure appears like a blur, a figure Theon thinks he recognises, but cannot place, the voice is ominous when it speaks. “You are both liars and cheats, and do not deserve the love of a boy.” Theon watches in horror as blood begins appearing from Rickon’s throat, his wolf gives a low whine, but cannot stop the figure that disappears as quickly as they came.


	96. Sansa VII

****

**2 nd Month of 300 A.C. The Twins**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Since leaving King’s Landing, Sansa had been exposed to the horrors of war. She had seen the aftermath of the carnage at Riverrun, where her husband and the men who had come from King’s Landing alongside the Riverlords had cut down the Freys laying siege to her uncle’s castle. There had been blood and gore and bodies all over the place after that, and Jon had not spoken of it, but he had returned to her and then they had moved northward to Hag’s Mire where her husband had met Theon Greyjoy. She had thought that Jon would return with Theon’s head, instead the Ironborn left and he came back looking scared and worried. He did not speak of that though, and so they had moved onto the Twins, where another slaughter had happened. Walder Frey and most of House Frey were dead now, their heads adorning spikes on the Twins, revenge for Robb and the northmen who had died at the Twins. Lord Rickard Karstark had sworn fealty to Jon and recognised him as his liege lord, as had his men, they had been followed by Lord Umber and the other northmen who had been taken prisoner in the Twins. Ser Emmon Frey had been named Lord of the Twins but she was not sure why, she did not want any Frey alive, but she could not convince her husband otherwise, for the King had given him a direct order.

As if sensing her discomfort, Jon takes her hand and asks. “Do you wish to leave the hall my love?”

Sansa looks at her husband and shakes her head. “No, I am fine my love, thank you for asking though.” It is difficult for her, knowing that they are feasting in the same hall where Robb was slain. Her uncle had decided to remain behind in Riverrun with his wife, who was with child. Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion had ventured to the West with their men, and Jon had taken Karstark men and his own guard and ventured to the Twins. She sees Jon looking at her still and squeezes his hand. “I am well truly. Are you well my love?”

Her husband takes a moment to respond, and not for the first time, Sansa has the feeling that he is hiding something from her, what it is though she is not sure, nor is she sure that she really wants to know. “I am well, a bit tired but still well. I will not leave the feast just yet; my men need to see me here. But I would like to speak to you about some things Sansa, if that is alright?”

Sansa thinks she knows what her husband wants to talk about, and though she is somewhat reluctant to discuss such things now, she knows that if she does not discuss the issues with him now, she never will so she nods her head and says. “Okay then Jon, what is it you wish to discuss?”

She sees her husband take a deep breath, and she feels Lady rub up against her, she knows that Greywind had not been allowed into the Twins during that fateful night, and she knows that their direwolves are only allowed in now, because of what happened before, grief taints her memories then, before she pushes it away. “I want to know what you make of Jeyne, Sansa. I know that she was Robb’s wife, but there is something about her that I cannot shake off. Something odd.”

Sansa looks at her husband and asks. “Did you ask for her to come with you, or did she ask?”

Her husband looks at her and then says. “I asked her what she wished to do, and she wished to come with us. I know that perhaps it is not the right thing, but I could not deny her. She is Robb’s wife, and I… I owe him that much.”

Sansa removes her hand from his and puts it on his cheek. “You owe him nothing Jon. You never did and you do not now.”

Her husband shakes his head. “I do. I need to make sure that she is not used against us. She might be simple, but she is a tool, a powerful tool at that. Karstark is loyal now, and I know after today he will remain so, but the Greatjon and others like him are not so loyal. I will need to keep Jeyne close, to ensure that they do not try anything with her.”

Sansa knows that had this been before the war and everything that came with it, she would have hated herself for asking this question, but now she knows she has to. “Do you know if she is with child?”

A frown creases her husband’s face then and he replies softly. “Her mother says that she is not, but her mother is not the most trustworthy of people. We shall have to wait and see. As for her mother, I have learned some very interesting things about her.”

“Such as?” Sansa asks, hating the note of dread that creeps into her voice.

“She was in correspondence with Tywin Lannister whilst Robb was alive, both before and after his wedding to Jeyne. She set Robb up to fall, she arranged the whole thing. Though I think Jeyne truly loved or cared for Robb, her mother committed treason.” Her husband says.

Sansa puts her hand on his arm and asks. “What are you going to do about her? I do not want her around Jon, truly I do not.” She thinks of the child growing inside her then and worries about what this could mean for her, for them.

Her husband is quick to reassure her then. “Do not worry the woman will be taken care of in good time. I will not let her threaten us.”

As if on cue, Jory walks up to them and whispers. “She is dead my lord, the crows got her.”

She looks at her husband who merely shrugs. “I never said she’d die honourably.” And Sansa finds herself laughing at that. At the sheer strangeness of it all. She finds herself wondering what her mother would think, and then as she thinks more of it, she knows that she can always ask, for her mother is here alive.


	97. Jon XXXI

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Moat Cailin**

**Lord Jon Stark**

They’d left the Twins far behind, and Sansa was there alongside her mother, Jon had not spoken to Lady Catelyn since they had freed her from her imprisonment, but he felt safer knowing that Sansa was with her mother as well as with two hundred men from the guard he had brought north with him. The host he had with him now was made up of cranogmen as well as men from the Twins and from King’s Landing, it was a motley host, but it was one Jon knew he could count on. Lord Rickard Karstark was at his side, determined to prove his loyalty, just as the Greatjon was, and for their company Jon was very grateful. The plan he had concocted was similar to one he knew Robb would have used to come back north had he survived the Red Wedding.  It was one their father had told them when they were children, one host attacked from the south, whilst another attacked from the north.

Needless to say Jon was leading the host that was currently marching on the Bolton men who were guarding the Moat, from the north. He could feel the anger and the indignation of knowing that a flayed man banner flew over the Moat, a castle, a ruined fortification that had for so long been a bastion of Stark power, such a thought made his blood boil. He was determined to right that wrong today. The Bolton men numbered some one hundred, but one hundred men in the Moat could hold against a host twelve times their number if they were coming from the south. Very few knew about the crossing into the north that would allow them the chance to hit the Moat from the north itself, and for that knowledge to work you would need the support of the cranogmen, something Jon thankfully had. In the distance, he hears the sound of a horn being blow, and he knows that is the signal. Nodding to his men, he draws Ice, and Ghost howls and the fight begins.

The marsh around the Moat had given way to snow, and as such, their horses would be of no use now, so Jon and the men and woman with him find themselves stalking toward the great bastion in silence, the only sound their feet padding against the snow covered ground. Even from where he is, Jon can hear the sound of arrow fire, Bolton has been clever in that regard at least, but there is little he can do when the fight comes from two sides. Jon smiles at that thought, he wonders if the bastard of Bolton will be in the Moat, he hopes so, he’d love to give the bastard a going through. His thoughts are interrupted when Ghost growls, looking to where his direwolf is looking Jon sees the gates of the Moat beginning to creak as if being forced down from within. Sure enough, they fly down and Bolton men come charging out. Jon growls and leads the charge Ice strong in his hands.

He swings his sword, cutting through one man’s neck and then another’s, the blood rushing through his veins, making him come alive. He swings his sword once more and another man falls down, unable to get up as Ghost lays into him. Jon continues the push, Ice swinging and singing as more and more blood is added to it, the spark of the sun fills the air and his vision, but more men are coming through. It seems he might’ve underestimated the number of men within the garrison, or perhaps it is a trick of the light. He knows that once they are within the Moat, they have won, perhaps that is why more and more men are coming out to attack them, leaving the archers on the walls.  Archers, by gods, he hates archers, he wants those damned archers dead and sooner than later.

Bolton men are falling down dead, but so are some of his own men, he sees one lad he had come to like fall down a sword through his gut, and he sees Jory’s squire falling down dead, blood spattering all around him. Rickard Karstark fights with a savage fury, fighting as if possessed, perhaps the man is, he had heard many things during his time with the northern lords who were with him at the Twins. He knows Karstark had lost much during the war, that his joining Jon was what prevented him from betraying Robb, though Jon had found himself surprised that some of the others had not accussed him of treachery, people like the Greatjon and Maege Mormont, who Jon knew had been fervently loyal to Robb had treated him with respect, and it was a curious thing that. With time, he hoped to earn their respect and to ensure they saw him as their lord, not someone forced on them.

Right now though, he found himself focusing back on the fighting, swinging his sword, bellowing commands, roaring orders, his sword was wet with blood, there were few men left, a pile of bodies was all that was seemingly left of the Bolton garrison who had come to defend the Moat. The archers were lesser in number now as well, it seemed Lord Howland had done his job, that man was an odd one, someone Jon could not quite put his finger on, but it did not matter the time was coming to deal with all of this. One more push and another man fell, and when the Bolton men who remained threw down their weapons and surrendered, Jon felt something akin to relief flow through him. But there was one question he had that he wanted to know. “Where is Ramsay Snow?” he asks.

One of the men, a deep cut on his right eye, an eyepatch covering his left looks at him and says. “Winterfell my lord.”


	98. Margaery III

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Margaery Baratheon**

She was wedded and bedded, and she was to be a mother within a few moons, everything she had ever wanted she had, apart from her King’s unrestrained attention. Whilst she and the King were good friends, Margaery was not sure if they would ever be more, there was some part of the King that she just could not reach, and it was quite frustrating, she had tried almost everything she and her grandmother could think of, and nothing seemed to work. There was one small part of the King that was just unreachable and why that was, she did not know, but she was determined to find it and make it hers, before the babe came. Her husband knew, she had told him, and he had been delighted by the prospect of being a father, but still he remained aloof. Regardless, she could not think of that just now, for her grandmother was demanding her full attention.

“The destruction of House Frey is something that will go down within history as the greatest achievement of the Stark boy’s life. Now that he has had his revenge, I think it is safe to say he will remain within the north to deal with the Boltons until such a time that the King requires him once more.” Grandmother says.

“I agree, I think the King was very smart in sending Lord Stark off to the Riverlands, as well as in sending Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime off to establish order within the Westerlands. I have the feeling that those two might not be returning anytime soon.” Margaery says, voicing her agreement.

Her grandmother looks at her surprised. “Has the King said anything about that? Does he plan on removing all of his main family then?”

For a brief moment, Margaery wonders just how much of the truth she should tell her grandmother, whilst she loves her grandmother, she wonders if the reason the King never tells her as much as she knows her father tells her mother, is because of this, these conversations she has with her grandmother. Deciding to see whether she is as good as she thinks she is, she says. “I am not sure truth be told grandmother, but I do know that the King does not really want Ser Jaime to venture anywhere near the south again, lest the rumours start up again.”

Her grandmother snorts at that. “A clever lad then, much unlike his father and mother. Speaking of which, you might wish to prepare yourself for the news that will soon come to the King.”

“What news?” Margaery asks, fear beginning to clog at her.

“The King’s mother has gone; she has disappeared from her cell in Oldtown. It seems someone decided to free her.” grandmother says calmly.

Margaery looks at her grandmother and asks. “How could this happen? I thought there were a lot of guards on her?”

Her grandmother makes an action that could be taken as a shrug to anyone else, but Margaery suspects that it is her way of putting of answering directly, and anger blooms within her at the thought. “Who knows, but know this, the woman has escaped, and she will be coming to King’s Landing.”

Margaery hides her fear behind a steely confidence. “We shall be ready for her.”

Grandmother nods, and then asks. “So tell me, what have you learned from your cousin, the Redwyne idiot?”

Margaery laughs slightly, then sobers up. “Hobber was quite convinced that his father was meeting with Lord Randyll, they were discussing father’s useless and how they feel they deserve more prominent places within the King’s court. Furthermore, it seems that Hobber himself was allowed into one of these meetings.”

Grandmother looks interested then. “And what exactly did he say was discussed at this meeting?”

“Lord Redwyne and Lord Tarly argued over the exact measures that they were going to take. And it seems that they have found a willing accomplice in one of the many Tyrell cousins here. It seems they want someone who is more biddable to their plans in charge at Highgarden.” Margaery says. When her grandmother does not react with surprise she asks. “You knew about this?”

“I had suspected, I did not know for sure, but Tarly’s father had long been planning something against Luthor, but he died before he got the chance to do so. Now that Hobber has said this, it makes me wonder what else might be happening within the Reach that I have not yet found.” Grandmother says.

That surprises Margaery. “Surely you do not think that there are others within the Reach who would be foolish enough to do this? Florents are gone, Rowan is father’s man, and the others are of no importance. The Hightowers are loyal because of mother and because Willas squired with Lord Leyton. I do not think there are others who would plot our downfall.”

Silence falls for a brief moment, before grandmother speaks once more. “There are those within the reach who hide their true intentions been more flattery than is reasonably possible, and then there are those who state their true intentions. I have spent my entire life weeding out both sorts, but there are those who one cannot anticipate for. And those are the people who hide themselves behind the gods.”

“The faith?!” Margaery exclaims. “Why would they want us to be brought down?”

“Because we are not the ones who have always been steadfast in supporting them. That has been the Hightowers, and as such, it would suit the Faith, particularly those based within the Starry Sept if it were the Hightowers who were ruling in the Reach, and who were strong enough to challenge the power of the High Septon. For the man has grown brittle on Lannister gold. And the Faith has never liked such people.” Grandmother replies.

Understanding what grandmother is getting at Margaery looks at her and whispers. “It would mean religious war then.”


	99. Theon IX

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Pyke**

**King Theon Greyjoy**

Things in the riverlands had not gone as he had wanted them to go. He had been so close to getting that bastard to bend to a boy, but then that figure had had to go and kill the boy, and rob him of his chance to do right by Robb. It was frustrating and it was annoying, his plan had backfired and now his lords were beginning to grow anxious, he was quickly coming to realise why the Ironborn had never advanced past the glory days of Harren the Black, they did not have any patience or any stomach to do anything but fight and fuck. It was aggravating, he needed to find a way to make them stick, otherwise he’d not keep his crown for long. The problem was everything he could think of was not going to work, at least not the plans he had for Westeros, that was why he’d called his sister and uncle to his solar, to discuss what to do next. His uncle looked haggard, and Theon felt guilty about that, since becoming King, he had asked his uncle to take care of the drowned priests, and he could tell it was taking a toll.

Taking a breath, he looks at them both and says. “Things in the Riverlands did not go well, I will admit to that. Perhaps I was too hasty to bring the boy out in front of his brother as I did, but I did not think there would be a figure there who’d try to kill him. Do we know who that figure was yet?”

His sister shakes her head. “I do not think we do Your Grace. Though when the boy’s mother figure found out she went mad, and we had to kill her, it took some three of my men to put her down. Are you sure that the boy was not killed by a scuffle?”

Theon shakes his head. “I know what I saw. And I know the Stark bastard saw it as well. Gods alone knows who that figure was, but something about them seemed familiar, and I know that Aeron thinks I am paying for refusing to be drowned since becoming King, but I cannot be drowned and hold the respect of some of the more normal lords.”

His uncle speaks then his voice tired. “Your Grace, it is because you have refused to be drowned that the Priests are growing more and more restless. Why is it you refuse to do that?”

Theon looks at his uncle, and despite wanting to tell them both of the nightmares he has been having, he knows that telling them this would do nothing, in fact it would probably make them laugh at him, and he has had enough of laughter for one lifetime. Instead he says simply. “I must keep my options open. You know as well as I do that the people of the islands are not following the Drowned God as much as they used to. Father’s failures have made them see that perhaps they are not as strong as they once were. I cannot lead them blindly through some water, we must adapt and change.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” his sister asks her voice stern. “Do you propose we become Greenlanders?”

Theon grits his teeth, forcing down the sharp rebuttal that was on the tip of his tongue then, instead he waits for a moment and then says. “No, I would not think of suggesting we completely abandon our ways, but I know that we must channel them in a more mature fashion. The mainland is lost to us for now, but there is nothing saying that we cannot look elsewhere to find the spoils that our people so crave.”

His sister looks at him curiously. “What are you suggesting?”

Theon grins then. “What I am suggesting is that we either follow Lord Farwynd and look toward the west for more lands to plunder and pillage, or we look toward Essos and begin filling our bellies on the produce of eastern meat. There is a war brewing in the east, and there is a woman who needs returning back to her homeland to claim what is rightfully hers.”

“You mean to bring a Targaryen back to Westeros?” his sister asks surprised.

“How do you propose on doing that Your Grace?” Lord Rodrik asks. “And what makes you think that she will even think of coming with you? What do you have to offer her?”

Theon bites back some irritation then and says simply. “I have a fleet and I have men, and I know more about the people of Westeros than most of her foreign advisors would. Furthermore, I think she needs to have someone who brings with her more allies than problems.”

“And what allies do you bring her?” his sister asks.

He holds up a piece of paper with Stark’s signature and seal on it. “Why I have an alliance with the Starks. And though the bastard’s brother is dead, he will hold true to the alliance, for that is the sort of man that he is. Furthermore, I can bring her the chance to get revenge against those who would do her wrong.”

The looks his sister and uncle share, both excite and anger him, he knows that what he is saying sounds ludicrous, but his dreams have told him that this is the way to go, that this is what needs to be done. Attacking anywhere in Westeros now would not do them any good, they must bring a new player into the game, and the dragon girl is the right character to bring into this. His uncle asks the question that Theon has been waiting for. “And how would you control her dragons?”

He smiles a smile he has seen in his dreams, a smile that he knows frightens his sister and uncle. “Why I have something that can bend them to my will. I have a horn, a horn of great power, and I intend to use it.”


	100. Sansa VIII

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. The Twins**

It was a strange thought being left behind in the place where Robb had died, since the moment her father had died, she had not really left Jon’s side, she had come to know him as she had never known anyone else before. She had come to love him with every fibre in her body, and now he was off fighting a war, leaving her worried sick that she might never see him again, that the child she carried might never get to see their father ever. That thought kept her up at night, it was the cause of her nightmares, she did not want to return to Winterfell alone, she wanted Jon by her side, but she knew that he had to fight to make that a reality. Sansa had to fight as well, and now as she looks at her mother, she wonders what words they will exchange. She had not spoken to her mother before this, had been too scared to seek her out, worried about her disapproval, or her anger, mother had never liked Jon, never cared for him, and they were brother and sister, what would she make of that.

“You need not look so worried Sansa, I am not going to eat you.” Her mother says lightly.

Sansa looks at her mother, and sees the scars on her face, the red lines where her fingers had clawed at her throat, and she shudders slightly, and then hates herself when she realises that her mother has seen her do that. “I am sorry mother, I… I’m just nervous that is all.”

Her mother sighs. “No, it is I that should be sorry Sansa. I can see that you have grown to be a beautiful and smart woman, a proud lady, and I know that your father would be proud, he would be very proud. I am proud of you. So very proud, my only regret is that I was not there to help you grow, and answer the questions that you had. And for that I will always be sorry.”

Sansa is not sure how to respond to that. “Mother, why would you need to be sorry? You were with Robb, he needed your help, it…. it is not wrong that you were with him.”

Her mother looks at her then, and Sansa can see all the love and hurt that the past two years have brought them both reflected in those eyes, it makes her want to cry, but she remains strong, hiding her fears behind a mask. “I should have gone to you, I should have gone south with you when you went south with your father and sister. Instead I was a mess, a grieving mess, and I was not the mother I should have been, I am sorry for that Sansa. I promise I will try my hardest to be a better mother to you from now on.”

Sansa squirms uncomfortably then. “It was not your fault mother; it was never your fault.” She hesitates for a moment and then asks in a tiny voice. “Do you hate me mother?”

Mother looks genuinely surprised then. “Why would I hate you Sansa?”

Sansa fights hard to keep her tears at bay. “Because I was the reason that Robb lost the war and his life. Because I am married to my brother, because I love Jon.”

As the tears begin flowing down her cheeks, she sees mother get up and embrace her. Burying her face into mother’s chest as she used to do as a child, she hears mother say. “Sansa, sweetling, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, you’re my daughter. Robb was murdered by a man who was greedy and jealous, and he has been given the justice he deserves. And even if you are married to Jon, it is obvious that you love him.” Sansa pulls back to look at her mother, and her disbelief must show on her face, for mother laughs, though there are tears flowing down her cheeks. “Sansa, I know that I did not like Jon when he was a child, but I was wrong to not like him, to treat him as I did. That is a conversation I must have with him, but all you need to know is that if you love him, which you clearly do, and if you care for him and he cares for you, then I am happy for you.”

Sansa wipes her eyes then and responds. “He does care for me; I know he does mother.”

Mother kisses the top of her head and then says. “Then I am happy for you Sansa. That is all your father and I wanted for you sweetling, to be with someone who cared for you, and who you cared for, nothing more, nothing less.”

Sansa looks at her mother, and then presses a hand to her middle and asks. “So you really do not hate me?”

“I do not hate you Sansa, I could never hate you. You are my daughter; I remember the day you were born. I…” her mother trails off then, and they both start crying then. Sansa hugs her mother, and holds her tight, happy and relieved at the same time, as well as feeling sad, sad that Robb is not here, that Bran and Rickon are not here with them, she wishes that Arya was here as well, eventually her mother pulls back from their embrace and looks at her. “How many moons along are you Sansa?”

Sansa is taken aback by that question, she was not sure that it was showing, or that it could show that soon, but all the same she says. “I think around two, I haven’t had my moon blood for a while. How could you tell?”

“Because you are glowing sweetling.” Her mother replies.

Sansa is silent a moment and then asks. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

Her mother shakes her head. “No, I do not think so. None worth knowing at least. Does Jon?”

Sansa hesitates for a moment, then replies. “No, I was going to tell him before he left, but I… I didn’t want to distract him.”


	101. Jon XXXII

****

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Near Winterfell**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The snows had dampened their march, and these snows were not the pathetic snows of summer, but the harsh snows of winter, they’d lost a lot of horses during the march, they’d lost a lot of men as well. Even though the north knew winter, that did not make them invincible to its harshness and cruelties. Jon had watched men fall and die, and had watched as their replacements had fallen and died as well. It all added a heavy weight to his shoulders, but it was a burden he was willing to bear if it meant they managed to defeat the Boltons. The scum who sat in his seat, in his castle, the scum who had murdered Robb, he would see them killed for all that they had done. Winterfell looked far off in the distance, and Jon could smell the smoke and the ash coming from the castle, home, he was so near to it, he could taste it. It made his blood sing, looking out to his left and right, he makes a note of the Mormont and Karstark men moving out into their positions. Alysanne Mormont, Lady Maege’s daughter had joined them with some five hundred men from Bear Island a few days ago, finding them through the thick snow. Every man was a boon, just as Mors Umber had joined them.

There were those who were with Bolton, but Jon would deal with them later, for now his focus was purely on the battle. A horn sounds somewhere in the distance, and the sounds of battle reach him, he can hear the Greatjon’s distinctive roar, and he knows that soon they will find the fighting, or it will find them. He unsheathes Ice and walks forward, Ghost at his side, his constant companion, slowly but surely they walk through the snow, his men following behind, doing their best to keep the noise to a minimum. There is a fog springing up and about around them, and it makes it harder for them to see, but also easier to muffle the sounds of their advancement. The first sign of the enemy is when a man with the Dustin sigil comes charging at him out of the fog. Jon raises Ice and cuts the man down in one fell swoop, his men roar at that and soon the battle begins in earnest for Jon.  Moving with grace that he lacks on the dance floor, Jon swings his sword, cutting through enemy after enemy, more and more Dustin men come spilling through the fog to die on his sword. Ghost does his bit as well, biting and tearing into any who think to come too close to him.

The one figure that Jon truly wants to meet on the field of battle, is the one figure that he cannot find in the midst of all the carnage that is going on around him, and that is the thing that frustrates him the most. Ramsay Snow, the man who had dared kill Bran and had tortured Rickon, the bastard who had dared proclaim himself wed to someone he claimed was Arya, he will bring the man down and he will kill him if it is the last thing he does. His sword drips red, red with the blood of the foes he has slain on this field of battle, he does not feel human right now, he feels more beast than man, and it is a feeling he likes. Jon roars challenges, and as fools come to meet them, he cuts them down, Ice singing as it cuts into one man’s armour and then another’s. The feeling of victory is there, these Bolton allies are broken and beaten, Manderly had done his job properly, and now Jon will finish it. The fog stirs around him like a stream, and sure enough more men come forward, as if caught in the current of the fog. He meets their challenges eagerly, cutting them down, spilling their guts on the ground, laughing as he does so.

Winterfell comes closer and closer into view, and that is when he sees Ramsay Snow. The bastard of the Dreadfort, a Kinslayer and a bastard, the worst sort of man, Jon roars a challenge at him, and laughs as the bastard comes charging toward him, a look of pure anger on his face. _For Bran, and for Rickon, I will kill you, I will make your life a living nightmare._ Jon thinks to himself as the bastard gets closer and closer. When their swords meet for the first time, sparks fly. Jon has fought and killed many times before, he was trained from a young age on how to fight, but nothing prepares him for Snow’s violent swings, there is no aim or purpose to them, nothing but simply savagery that eats away at some of his defence. He gets cut once or twice on the chest, his armour denting with a scream. Still he continues onward, swinging his sword, taunting Snow, daring him to come close enough, and when the fool does, Jon cuts him and damages him. Blood is falling from Snow’s unguarded face, and Jon means to kill him for good. The tarred heads of innocent’s filter through Jon’s head, images of Sansa crying as they heard the news and shared in their grief, fill his head, and his anger only grows. Roaring commands and challenges, he strikes and swings, and Ramsay Snow bleeds, and bleeds, and then the man falls down, Jon’s sword buried in his eye, as Jon pulls the sword out, Snow’s face plants into the snow. Fitting really, he thinks to himself before moving onward, Winterfell now free to him.

Much later he will find it hard to recall the events that followed his killing of Ramsay Snow, but as of right now, the euphoria of that and arriving in Winterfell, is only capped off by finding Roose Bolton and killing him. Ice buried deep within the man’s chest as he stares at him, Ghost ripping out the man’s wife’s throat as well. Jon stares at them both, two corpses of two families that are no finished, and he roars, his grief and his victory mixing together, to give the thing he wants most a name. Vengeance, for Bran and Rickon, for Sansa, for Robb. He has achieved his goal, and he can rest easy now.


	102. Kevan I

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Kevan Lannister**

Kevan had never thought he would be named hand, he had never thought he would outlive Tywin, he never thought he’d see the day when Cersei was forced to escape from a cell in Oldtown, but he had seen all three things happen within the space of a few moons, and really he was not sure what to make of it all. Being hand had brought with it a lot of wealth and power, but those were things he had never wanted, he simply wished to return home, to Casterly Rock and to Dorna and their boys, but as of now, he was stuck within King’s Landing. Stuck trying to help govern the realm, and prevent the Tyrells from creeping into all the important offices of court, as his own family had done when both Aerys and Robert had sat the throne.  It was tiring work, made no easier by the fact that Mace Tyrell seemed to have suddenly grown a back bone from somewhere. Where that backbone had come from he did not know, but it was proving to be increasingly annoying to Kevan.

The King looked imperious in Baratheon gold and black and his voice was powerful when he spoke. “What word has there been from the Westerlands Ser Kevan?”

“Lord Tyrion reports that all seems calm within the Westerlands, the process of rebuilding after the war has begun, and people are preparing for the long winter. He has taken measures to help ease the people into winter, by reducing the tax rate somewhat, and furthermore, by fostering those lords whose fathers had died fighting in the war.” Kevan replies, the loss of several prominent lords in the Westerlands had really damaged the stability of their home, and Kevan knows that such instability can be fatal for a kingdom.

“Good, very good. Tell Lord Tyrion that he has another moon within the West before I expect him to return home. Has he chosen a wife?” the King asks.

“He has Your Grace. He has made an offer of marriage to Alysanne Lefford.” Kevan replies.

“Very good, the wealth of the Golden Tooth combined with the wealth of the Rock should help balance some of the books within the West for some time.” The King says. There is a moment’s pause, and then the King speaks once more. “Pycelle, what word has there been from the citadel?”

Kevan looks at Grand Maester Pycelle, an old man whose glory days are long behind him, a relic of an old age, he had always been Tywin’s dog, and now without his master he seems increasingly lost. “From the citadel?” the man asks aloud, before quickly saying. “AH yes, they say that winter has now officially settled within Westeros, and are advising against any sort of campaign that might dredge on throughout a long winter.”

“How long do they think this winter will be?” the King asks.

“They are not sure Your Grace.” Pycelle replies.

The King does not look very happy about that, but he merely nods, before turning his attention to Varys, the eunuch who Kevan truly does not trust. “And what word is there about my mother Lord Varys?”

That Cersei had escaped from her cell in Oldtown, has not really come as a true surprise, but where she might be going, is what Kevan cannot figure out. “It appears that she was last seen around the Roseroad, looking rather bedraggled.” The eunuch says.

“Your Grace, if you wish it I can have men look for and find her before she even leaves the Reach.” Lord Tyrell says.

The King shakes his head. “No let her be. Perhaps if we allow her to wander for some time, she will draw out those whoresons the Sons of the Dragon once more.” The Sons of the Dragon had returned to the streets of King’s Landing, as well as elsewhere within the Realm and had begun their killing spree once more, it was a terrifying thought that they might be working within the Red Keep as well as within other noble houses, and so the King had ordered a purge, but so far it seemed not to have done any good. They were beginning to become a serious threat, the likes of which had not been seen for some time. Kevan’s musings are interrupted, when the King speaks once more. “And what word is there on Theon Greyjoy? The fool who thinks himself a King?”

“He has set sail from the Iron Islands Your Grace.” The eunuch says. “To where he hopes to go, I do not know, but what I do know is that his support base is much stronger now than it was when he first took the Seastone chair.”

Kevan has a sneaking suspicion he knows where Greyjoy might be going, but he keeps silent on that matter, waiting for someone else to bring it up. Eventually, Tyrell does. “Your Grace, if I might make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead.” The King says.

“Perhaps it might be best to send a fleet out to prevent Greyjoy from advancing any further than he has done already?” Tyrell suggests.

The King looks to Kevan then and he knows what role he is to play well. “That would be a splendid suggestion my lord Tyrell. Perhaps Lord Redwyne and the Redwyne Fleet could venture out to fight the Iron Fleet?”

Tyrell puffs himself up like one of those puffer fish then, and when the King says. “Yes, I quite agree with you Ser Kevan. Having the Redwyne Fleet sent out to deal with the Iron Fleet makes the most sense. Especially as the royal fleet is still undergoing some rebuilding.”

“It would be my honour, Your Grace.” Lord Redwyne says then, his voice soft, though the pride is clear in his voice.

“Well then that is settled. Let us make Theon Greyjoy rue the day he decided to crown himself King.” The King says emphatically. As the council makes its toasts to that, Kevan can’t help but feel slightly off, as if his stomach is developing cramps.


	103. Jon XXXIII

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The ghosts of war never left, that was the lesson that Jon was quickly learning, killing someone changed a person, that was what he was learning as well. He would wake up from nightmares, sweating and breathing heavily, and be unable to sleep afterwards, and so he would go for walks along Winterfell’s walls and see the ghosts that haunted him in his dreams. Father, Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya, all the ghosts were there, looking at him, questioning him, but they never responded when he asked them questions. Walda Frey was there as well, her unborn child pointing at him with an accusatory finger. His nightmares were always there, and he felt bad, bad that he was keeping Sansa awake as well, that could not be good for her, or for their child. He was fighting hard to keep his emotions in check but he was not sure he was succeeding as well as he’d have liked, and now, well now he had to have a conversation he had been dreading.

Lady Catelyn looks as formidable as ever, the scars on her face and neck do not take away from that, nor do they take away from her beauty either. Taking a deep breath, Jon clears his mind and speaks. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me my lady. I know that it must be difficult for you to come here.” He pauses then, unsure of whether he has approached the start of this conversation the right way, he has never known how to talk to his goodmother.

“Thank you for inviting me my lord.” Lady Catelyn replies then, saving him from an awkward pause.

Silently cursing himself for still feeling so tongue tied in front of the woman who is now his goodmother, he takes a moment to compose himself and then says. “I have a few questions that I would like to ask you, and I would appreciate it if you replied truthfully to me.” At her raised eyebrows he hurries on. “It is not that I doubt your truthfulness my lady, it is merely that I know that things have not always been easy between us.” He would say never, but Jon remembers Lady Catelyn singing to him when he was ill, long, long ago.

“Of course my lord.” Lady Catelyn says.

“Please, call me by my name my lady.” Jon says then, not wanting to say what was on the tip of his tongue, he knows that mentioning Eddard Stark would be a bad idea.

“Then you must call me by mine, Jon.” His goodmother replies.

Jon nods in acceptance at that, and then continues. “Why are you not snarling at me?” he knows that sounds childish, and by the look on Lady Catelyn’s face, he knows he has not said what he wanted to say properly, so he tries again. “What I mean is, I know this must not be easy for you, me being here, sitting where father used to sit, where Robb used to sit. I want to know why you seem so okay with it.”

There is a long silence that follows his question, and throughout it, Jon continues to think that perhaps she will start snarling at him, that she will berate him and call him all the things that he thinks that Robb most likely felt, instead her answer surprises him. “Because Robb would not want me to snarl at you, because I do not hate you.”

That surprises him. “What? But…but you….” He knows he is stammering now, but her previous comment surprises him a lot.

As if sensing that, Lady Catelyn speaks then. “I know that my actions in the past were not right, and I know I behaved in an unforgivable manner, but I, I never hated you. I wanted to hate you, but I could not. So I ignored you. I ignored a child, and I have regretted it for a long time.”

Jon looks at the woman before him, the woman who he always wanted love from and got scorn from in return, and now he is finally getting the answers to a question he never knew he wanted an answer to, and he is not sure how to respond. “Why?” he asks.

Lady Catelyn looks right at him and says. “Because I was selfish, because I did not want to ruin my relationship with Ned, because I was hurt and scared. It was not right, and I do not expect you to forgive me, but I did what I did, because I wanted to protect myself, and so I ignored a child.”

Jon looks at her, really looks at her, and he does not know what to say, he really does not. “And now? What do you think of me now?”

Lady Catelyn looks at him and says. “I think you are a brave man, and I think you are exactly like your father. I could never hate Ned, and I cannot hate you. The gods know that I have tried, and during the war, I thought I did, but I do not, I have not. I think you did what you thought was right, and I know that my children loved you, and that Sansa loves you. And I am sorry that I did not try harder when you were a child.”

Jon feels completely at a loss for words, he is not sure how to feel about what Lady Catelyn has just told him, for so long he wanted her attention, her approval, and now, now he is not sure what he has, but he knows it is not hate. He sits there for a long time and thinks and thinks, he knows that he should definitely say something in response, but what, what does he say in response to something that has changed him so completely, eventually he decides on saying the one thing he can think of. “Let us put the past behind us Catelyn, shall we try and move forward into the future?”

When Lady Catelyn smiles in response, he knows he has said the right thing. “I would like that Jon, I would like that very much.”


	104. Sam I

****

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Samwell Tarly**

The Wall had been a strange place for him, someone who had grown up in the warmth and luxury of Horn Hill, he had never liked it in Horn Hill, his father had not really been nice to him, but then how would a warrior like Randyll Tarly ever know how to be nice to a coward like Sam. He had thought the Wall a cold and barren place when he had first gotten there, but it had been a blessing in disguise, he had come to love the wall, to love its sureness and the feeling of belonging he had there. He had been quite surprised then when Lord Commander Mormont had told him that he was heading off to King’s Landing at request of the Queen, Sam remembered the Queen, she had been kind to him, one of the few people who ever had been. He had met her once or twice since being here, and she had been kind to him then, but the King had spent most of Sam’s time in King’s Landing with him, asking him many questions and providing him with answers as well. It was strange, the King was kinder than Sam had thought he would be, but there was a determination in him, something that Sam had not failed to notice.

Sam was sat opposite the King in the library of the Red Keep, there were a lot of books here, more than perhaps those in the citadel even, and Sam had found a home here, he had always loved books, his father hadn’t though. Blinking to bring himself from his thoughts, he listens carefully as the King asks. “So Sam, tell me, what have you learned about the dragons since you have been here?”

Sam had heard rumours of dragons being back in the world, but he had not been sure whether or not that was idle gossip or if it was truth, but something had convinced the King that it was true, and therefore, he had been tasked with finding out as much as he could about dragons. Taking a breath to calm himself, he says. “Well, from what I have read Your Grace, Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons will not be at their full size nor strength yet. It takes at least five or so years for dragons to be truly a threatening menace within the heat of battle.”

The King laughs at that. “I think the people of Slaver’s Bay or Astapor might disagree with you there. From what the eunuch tells me her dragons caused quite a big blaze there. But yes, tell me, what else have you learned?”

Sam hesitates for a moment, much of what he had read he already knew from when he was a child, still he tells the King for that is what he wishes. “It seems that rain dampens the dragon’s ability to breathe fire, or it dampens the effectiveness of their fire, the maesters cannot quite agree. Furthermore, if you kill a dragon’s rider it will become very vulnerable, and thus more susceptible to things such as scorpion bolts.”

Sam gets the feeling that the King already knows all of this, but still he says. “How very interesting. And is there anything else you have learned that might be of use? I have heard that the Dragon Queen has no rider for two of her dragons, how might one deal with them?”

This is something that Sam has considered for some time. “I am not sure truth be told Your Grace. Never before have there been dragons without riders who were hatched from the same fire that brought about their origin. I think that they will be deeply connected to the Dragon Queen as well as to each other, severing that connection will be very hard.”

“But can it be done?” the King asks.

Sam looks at the King, and sees a strange sight there, he is not sure he can quite explain it, but he knows that it is there, a crackle almost coming off of the King’s person, it is hard to truly explain really, but it is there. Clearing his head of such thoughts he responds. “Everything can be done Your Grace; it is just a matter of finding how it can be done.”

The King looks thoughtful at that. “When the Dornish brought down Meraxes during the First Dornish War, they got luck through using a scorpion bolt and having someone with very good aim. That is a risk I cannot afford to take. And when the Dance was fought, Jacaerys Velaryon flew his dragon too close to the water and drowned. Again, pure happstenance. Though I wonder, is there something that can control unbonded dragons?”

“There is one way I think that unbonded dragons can be controlled Your Grace.” Sam says tentatively, his mind racing, memories coming to him thick and fast. “A dragon horn Your Grace. I remember reading somewhere that the Valyrians often used to use them to bind untameable dragons to their will. They were quite powerful and were much sought after.”

The King looks at him intently then. “And do you know if any might have survived and been brought here?”

As Sam considers the question, he wonders at the strangeness of this situation, the King’s father was well known for his hatred of the Targaryens and all they stood for and yet he kept most of their traditions regarding the court, the King however, seems to have a fascination for the Targaryens and yet has changed many of their courtly traditions. Realising that the King is still waiting for his answer, Same blushes and replies. “It is certainly very possible Your Grace. Dragonstone would be the ideal place to store such a thing, considering that was where the dragons were often kept.”

The King shakes his head. “If that were true, then my uncle Stannis would have found them, and used it.”

After a moment’s hesitation Sam replies. “It is possible that he did not know where to look Your Grace. But someone who knew that island inside out might be able to.” The King smiles then and Sam thinks that he might have finally figured out why Bryce Storm is so close to the King.


	105. Theon X

**5 th Month of 300 A.C. Summer Sea**

**King Theon Greyjoy**

As he watches the enemy ships approach, Theon finds himself quite calm, he was not surprised that the Redwyne Fleet was coming toward them, indeed he had been counting on it. The Redwyne fleet was the only competition that the Iron Fleet had on the seas of Westeros, and by engaging them in battle, they were going to be removing them from the field, for when the final battle came. His sister and uncles had called him mad, and perhaps he was mad, but there was no royal fleet to aid the Redwynes this time, and besides, he had ships out at the front filled with fire, waiting for the right time to explode into flame. The fire had been a gift from someone, who, he did not know, nor did he truly care, all he cared about was the fact that the flame was there, waiting to be lit. He watches as the Redwyne ships come ever closer to his own front ships, and as soon as they cross the barrier he had put into his mind he nods his head giving the signal. A horn sounds and the torches are lit, green fire springs up out of the air, catching Redwyne men unawares, the sound of their screams echo throughout the air.

The green light of wildfire dances before him, engulfing those who he wants it to, it is a strangely beautiful sight, seeing it dance and spring to life before him. He watches as the men on the front of the Redwyne lead ships are engulfed and destroyed by the fire that engulfs them. Some are surviving and are pulling out from the fire, some are looking for other ways to get around the flames, but just as he had planned, there is little to no way for them to truly escape it. Those men at the back of the Redwyne fleet will have heard about the fires now, and will be looking to flee if they have any brains in their heads, but knowing that they are from the Reach he highly doubts that they do. Sure enough, a horn sounds somewhere in the distance, and he knows that soon enough he shall be engaging in combat, fighting on a ship for the second time in his life. He had raided along the coast during the journey south, and as such he had instilled the fear of the Drowned God into the men they had come across, they had spread the tail, just as he knew they would.

As he draws his sword, he bellows commands for his portion of the fleet to move forward and to the right, the flames are gathered in the centre, and though good men have died to ensure that his plan works accordingly, they have done their duty to their King, which is all that matters, he can replace these men with slaves from elsewhere, for now, he must need fight. The first Redwyne men who he sees are trying to come onto his ship, they are cut down with arrows and steel, falling into the water below, their bodies floating lifelessly into the deep benath. They wear no armour, but that makes them all the easier to kill. Men wearing no armour are more likely to be hesitant when fighting and as such that hesitancy always leads to their deaths. His sword is wet with blood and water, he can taste the salt of the sea, and he feels alive, so very alive, pushing forward he swings his sword, wishing he had a bow in his hand but knowing that a sword is more practical for just now. He boards the enemy ship, and kills those who remain, before moving onto another ship.

The fighting rages all around him, his blood sings with the feeling of killing and fighting, for so long he had thought he was different to his people, but out here on the waves, fighting on a ship, he feels alive, he feels so very alive, he feels whole for the first time since he was a child. His sword clatters against steel and armour and brings down the enemies in his path, those who would deny him and his people their destiny. He will win this battle, of that he is sure, he will ensure that the Redwynes are brought low, he knows that he must ensure that they are, in order to truly secure his rear, for they will not be going toward King’s Landing, not yet anyway, but toward Slaver’s Bay and Queen Daenerys. His sword clatters to the ground, and he takes up his dagger stabbing and cutting away at men who fall and die just as easily as a sack of meat.

Throwing down his dagger, he takes a bow and a quiver from one of his men, and begins aiming. These Redwyne men carry no archers with them, preferring to use Ballistae and their own swords and spears, they fail to realise that archers are always worth more on the sea, than instruments subject to burning. He knocks an arrow, takes aim and counts to three before firing. As soon as that arrow has been let loose, he takes another arrow and repeats. He does this six times, until he sees that there are no more men moving on the ship closest to him. Holding his bow at his side, he moves toward the ship and walks onto it, ontop of the plank his men had thrown onto it. The waves are moving quite rapidly, but it is nothing that he cannot handle. He arrives on the ship, and finds a man standing there dressed in armour, with a mop of red hair and a red beard. This man must be Paxter Redwyne, the fool has no sword on him, and Theon draws his bow, knocks an arrow and lets loose, the man falls down dead.  The man is dead, when Theon has his head removed and dangled before some of the other ships that come closest, they surrender, but others continue fighting. In the end it does not matter, the Redwyne fleet is finished, burned or dead, and he has won.


	106. Kevan II

**5 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Kevan Lannister**

Things were running smoothly within King’s Landing, it seemed that whatever trouble there had been before was slowly disappearing, furthermore, the war was officially over now, the Riverlands and the Westerlands were recovering from the fighting that had ravaged them for nearly two years, and loyal lords had taken the place of those that had fallen or been removed. It was a good feeling, knowing that peace was being restored to Westeros, Kevan had a feeling that the winter that had fallen with the snow, was going to be a long one, and fighting wars during winter never ended well. The realm could not last through another war, that much was for certain, and so it was the duty of the King and his council to make sure that war did not happen once more. Hence why they were all so eager to hear the news coming from the north.

“Lord Jon Stark has written from Winterfell, and as I am sure you can tell by that fact alone, his war against the Boltons was very successful.” Kevan says. “Lord Bolton, his wife, and his bastard are all dead. Those who sided with Bolton were either destroyed or have bent the knee and recognised Lord Jon as their rightful lord, and you as their rightful King Your Grace.”

Kevan notes the smile that flickers on the King’s face for a brief moment, before it is replaced by a solemn expression. “Good, that is very good. And how is Lord Jon faring in rebuilding his lands?”

Kevan looks at the letter before him and then says. “It seems that the rebuilding of the north is going well Your Grace. The lords of the north are very eager to prove their loyalty to their new liege as well as to ensure that peace remains. It seems that Deepwood Motte, Moat Cailin and Torrhen’s Square are all being worked on and prepared for winter. Before the Ironborn invaded, the harvests had been taken in, so Lord Stark believes that there will not be a shortage of food during the winter.”

The King nods. “Very well, I still want to know whether or not we have enough grain for such a thing should it be necessary.”

Pycelle speaks, his voice tired sounding. “Your Grace, I am not sure that setting aside such provisions for any kingdom during this winter would be a smart decision.”

The King stares at Pycelle, causing the man to quake a little. “And why is that?” the King asks.

Pycelle’s voice is querulous when he replies. “Because it would show signs of favouritism, to a realm that was once in rebellion against your rule. Furthermore, I do not think it would be a smart thing to send hard earned provisions northwards, regardless of where they stand. It would lessen the amount here.”

Kevan closes his eyes, Pycelle had become a shell of his former self, indeed, Kevan is quite convinced that the man might have gone senile following Tywin’s death. “Grand Maester, I was not suggesting that we send provisions straight away. I was merely saying that we must make sure we have provisions available should the need arise.” The King responds firmly. Silence follows this statement as the members of the council shift around slightly, the King eventually ends the silence. “Ser Kevan, tell me, what has your search for the Sons of the Dragon provided?”

Kevan shifts around slightly, not wanting to come up with nothing, but not really having anything of note to say. “It has found very little Your Grace. All the old information that Lord Jon found has been found once more, nothing new can be added to what we know about the Sons of the Dragon.”

The King looks quite displeased by this. “How is it possible that there is nothing new on them? How is it that they can fade in and out as if they are controlling this city?”

“I am not sure Your Grace, but I think it is very likely that they are waiting to do something big.” Kevan says. “What that is exactly, I am not too sure, but I know there must be something big coming.”

“And makes you say that Ser Kevan?” Prince Oberyn asks, and Kevan feels his stomach cramp then, he holds back the curse of pain he was about to utter and fights to keep his voice calm.

“When the Faith Militant troubled King Maegor, they had a spurt of activity and then went quiet, before planning their famous rising in the last year of his reign. I have the feeling that the Sons of the Dragon might be doing something similar here.” Kevan replies.

“An interesting suggestion my lord.” The eunuch says. “Especially when one considers the whispers about the Faith.”

The King looks at the eunuch then. “I had spoken with the High Septon and he had assured me that he was doing his best to find out where the trouble makers were coming from. I do not think that we shall be having any trouble from them.”

“I quite agree Your Grace.” Lord Tyrell says. “The High Septon has shown his loyalty to the crown many times over, I think that these rumours are nothing more than that.”

Prince Oberyn speaks then. “I am not so sure Your Grace. I think there is most definitely something going on within the Great Sept of Baelor, that the High Septon does not want us to see, and that we would be well advised to look into that.”

Kevan feels horrified at what he thinks the Prince is suggesting. “Surely you do not mean to suggest storming the Great Sept Prince Oberyn?”

The Prince looks at him and smiles. “Well, that is one option, but I am sure a more thorough investigation of the Sept will do just as well. After all, they have had that place for a long time, I am sure they have found places to hide things, and people.”


	107. Tyrion XI

**5 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Tyrion Lannister**

He was a married man once more, his marriage to Alysanne Lefford was one of convenience, he had married her to get access to her lands and the wealth of the Golden Tooth, nothing more nothing less. She was a smart lady, but they spent their time in two different places, though he had made sure to consummate the marriage. To be married as well as Lord of Casterly Rock, felt quite surreal, it was something he had always wanted, but he had never thought he would get it, and now, now that he had it, he was not sure what to make of it all. He was grateful to the King of course, for he knew that the King had been his champion throughout the trials with his father, and well, the King had entrusted him to repair the West, which he believed he was on the path to doing now. That the King had requested his presence in the capital, was only another sign of how much the man trusted him, he felt honoured.

The King sits before him, two of his Kingsguard standing guard behind him, an imperious sight truth be told. “So uncle, I trust things are well within the West, and between yourself and your lady wife?”

“They are very well thank you Your Grace. Lady Alysanne is clever, sweet and charming, everything one could hope for in a wife.” Tyrion replies.

The King nods at that and then says. “I trust your marital duties have not stopped you from completing the task that I had asked of you when last we had met?”

It takes him a moment to remember just what the King is speaking of, and then he remembers. “It did not Your Grace. Of that much I can assure you.”

“And?” the King asks impatiently. “What did you find?”

Tyrion smiles for a moment, revelling in the fact that despite all that has happened, the King can still be a child, can still act his age at times. “I have found what we were looking for Your Grace. The mines beneath Castamere were not all completely destroyed when my father had his little trip there. Indeed, some of the mines have finally dried out as well. It is clear that there are people who have been using what gold turned up above ground for many years now.”

The King looks at him intently and asks. “And do you know where this gold might have gone?”

Tyrion takes a moment to think through his response, remembering some of what he had learned, and who he had learned it from. Deciding that keeping some things from the King won’t hurt him, he says. “I believe the gold was taken and used to aid setting up the Sons of the Dragon Your Grace. At least in its current incarnation, with some small portion going toward the Faith.”

The King curses in anger then, and Tyrion sees something flash in his nephew’s eyes, and no matter how brief that flash is, it is enough to scare him. “I knew it. I just knew it. There are traitors everywhere, lurking within corners that I cannot see. Tell me uncle, do you think I would be right to send men to search the Great Sept of Baelor?”

The question surprises him, he had known that there were some who advocated for the searching of the Great Sept, but he had not thought that the King was actually considering it. Considering his words very carefully, Tyrion says. “I think that sending someone who is known for their piety to the Great Sept, to speak to the High Septon would be a smart move. I also believe that there is a place for some subtle investigation. Nothing more than that Your Grace. We do not want to anger the High Septon.”

“Considering the throne is sworn to protect the Faith, I think the old man might bear a few questions from his sovereign, and those working for me. After all, it is by my hand that the man survived some of the scandals that threatened to shock the Faith. There was one sparrow fellow who I had killed to ensure that the Faith was not threatened. You should have heard the nonsense this sparrow fellow was prattling on about, very dangerous.” The King says, before taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Something changes within his nephew’s mind, for his body posture changes. “Tell me uncle, do you think the Vale will raise its banners for a Targaryen?”

“I do not think so Your Grace. There is no love for the dragons in the Vale, and Lady Lysa wants to protect her brat of a child, nothing more, nothing less.” Tyrion says confidently. “I think we can expect the Vale to remain neutral for the time being.”

The King nods. “Very well.” A moment’s pause and then he speaks once more. “Tell me uncle, where do you think Tyrek is?”

The question throws him slightly, but he knows that it is something that has been bothering the King, hells it has been bothering him for some time, and so he takes his time to consider an answer before eventually replying. “I am not sure Your Grace. But I do think he is alive.”

“And why do you think that?” the King asks.

“Because he has a claim on the Rock, and there are always people out there who wish to do our family harm Your Grace. Because people know that he is close to you, and that you would do anything to have him returned to you. That you have stopped looking so openly, I think to whoever has him, suggests that there is not enough incentive for you now. They will return him soon, I think.” Tyrion replies.

A look of suspicion crosses the King’s face briefly, before it disappears. “Very well my lord. Well that is all I wished to speak of, I shall leave you to your evening now.” The King rises, as does Tyrion, he bids a farewell to the King and once the man has gone, he sits back down and opens a letter that he had had with him since the Rock, and reads it and ponders.


	108. Cersei VIII

**5 th Month of 300 A.C. Somewhere Far**

**Queen Dowager Cersei Lannister**

She had escaped her cell in Oldtown, thanks to help of some people she was now beginning to wonder if she could trust. There was something about them that seemed strangely familiar, but also something completely unrecognisable. At first she had thought that they had been sent by her father, but one of them had righted her wrong assumption and informed her that her father was long dead, killed at her son’s wedding. The grief and the fear that had hit her then had been something else entirely, her son was alone now, surrounded by roses and wolves, with her brother the Imp there to aid him. Cersei knew she needed to get to her son to aid him, to fight off the threats that lurked in the shadows, and the people she was with promised that she would get the chance to aid her son, but so far they had kept her from King’s Landing and she was not sure why. As such, as she looked at them now she felt anger and frustration grow within her.

“When will we get to King’s Landing?” she demands. “I will not be gainsaid in this, I will go to King’s Landing with or without you.”

One of the people with her, a tall man with a scar over his right eye looks at her with some disgust. “And how would you survive the journey Your Grace? You do not know how to hunt or how to beg. You would die.”

Cersei looks at the man and snarls. “I am the Queen; people would do anything to help their queen.”

The man laughs. “You were a Queen Once Your Grace. Now you are nothing more than the King’s mother, for there is a new Queen and she is with child.”

The whore being pregnant does not surprise her, whether the child is actually her son’s she does not know. Still, she knows that showing any sort of weakness in front of these people will gain her nothing, so instead she asks. “Where are we?”

“We are somewhere close to King’s Landing, but far away enough so that the guards will not kill us on sight.” The leader of the group replies.

Cersei fixes her attention on the leader, the figure before her wears a hood at all times, and their voice alternates between being deep like a man’s and soft like a woman’s she is not sure what to make of that, but decides that for right now, that is not her primary concern. “And why would they kill us on sight?”

The leader snorts. “Because, there is a bounty on some of our member’s heads, they were members of that foolish organisation the brotherhood before it disbanded. But there is also the fact that your son the King has put an arrest out for you.”

The words should not shock her, but they do. That her son would do such a thing seems inconceivable to her, and as such she thinks that it must be the Whore of Highgarden telling him to do such a thing. She ignores the voice at the back of her head that whispers, that her son never does anything that he does not wish to do. “I am sure the King would ignore such an order if you were to deliver me personally to him.” She says faking the confidence in her voice.

The leader of the group laughs. “I am sure that might be the case, but it is a risk I would rather not take Your Grace. There are other ways to get you to King’s Landing than on the front and open.”

Cersei is intrigued by this and so asks. “And how do you plan on doing that? If I know my son, which I do, he will have people patrolling the Kingswood night and day.”

The leader of the group looks at Cersei, allowing her to get a brief look at their features, and what she sees startles her. “Why, we shall be using you of course Your Grace. But not in the grand way that you imagine. Tell me, do you want to be able to fight?”

Intrigued she asks. “Fight, what do you mean by that?”

“Do you want to be able to fight with your arms as well as your mind?” the leader asks.

Cersei thinks of all the times she used to sneak off to sword practice when she and Jaime were children, and how she had always thought it was unfair that she never got to fight in a battle or anything, when she had been better than Jaime at one point. Without hesitation she replies. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Good, then hold out your arm.” The figure says.

“Why?” Cersei asks.

“For you to be able to fight, you need to be able to bear pain.” The figure replies.

Cersei extends her right arm out, and holds back a cry of pain when the figure cuts her with a dagger. She watches fascinated as the figure drops the blood into a cup, she finds herself wondering where they got that cup from, before focusing her attention back onto what is happening before her. The figure takes something else from one of the group and adds it to the cup, before taking some more blood from Cersei’s arm, the act causes her to wince slightly. She remains quiet though, watching and observing, and then when the figure is done, they hand the cup to her and say. “Drink this.”

Curious as to what will happen, Cersei presses the cup to her mouth and takes a deep sip of the concoction inside it. She gags the moment the liquid hits her mouth, it tastes foul, but it goes down her throat all the same, and for a moment nothing happens, and she wonders if she has been fooled, but then her stomach lurches and she falls to her knees. As she does so, a wracking pain hits her, and she yells, her vision goes blurry and she feels as if her body is breaking and reforming, the last thing she sees, is her children, looking at her with hooded eyes.


	109. Tyrion XII

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Tyrion Lannister**

It was raining, now that was an odd sight, rain in winter, usually, it only snowed or was dry, the feel of the rain on his skin as he walked, or rather waddled up the steps of the Great Sept was something else. It felt nice, it felt pure, the King had asked him to meet with the High Septon in his role as master of Coin, to remind the man of the debts the faith owed the crown, and to repay the debts the crown owed the faith. It was a funny thing, debt, it came and went like the changing of the seasons, but there was always something there, waiting, counting, just holding back until a moment arose in which it could rear its head once more and remind people of the issues of money. He liked money, of course he did, he was a Lannister, they were born with money, and he had always known how to make money, now was the time to meet with the High Septon, who had been put into his position with money from the Lannister coffers.

He reaches the top nods to the septons standing there, and walks through the doors and down a hallway, before coming to the High Septon. The man is portly, and bald, but he will do for now. Tyrion bows. “Your Holiness.” He holds the bow for a moment and then rises.

“Lord Lannister, how might I be of service?” the man asks.

Tyrion fixes his mismatched eyes on the man and sees the belly sticking out from the robes, and hides a groan of frustration. Blinking, he speaks. “I have come on behalf of His Grace, the King, to discuss, certain financial matters. As I am sure your men are aware, the crown owed some money to the faith,” he gestures to the chests that his squires brought with them. “These chests contain the money necessary for clearing that debt.”

Tyrion sees the High Septon’s eyes bulge at the sight of the chests, and he thinks he knows where that money will be spent. “I thank you for this, and you may tell the King that I thank him for this is as well. From this moment on, the crown’s debts to the Faith are forgiven.” The man pauses a moment, drinking in the chests before him, before he speaks once more. “Tell me my lord, what more is there?”

Tyrion looks at the man, recalling his history lessons. The Faith and the Targaryens had always been allies after the Old King had promised to protect them, they had turned the other way when the Targaryens practised incest, though Tyrion knows there were aspects of the Faith that reviled it and wanted it gone completely. He knows that the man sitting before him was one of them, he also knows that his father managed to remove the dragons the first time round thanks to the Faith, still, the High Septon has always traditionally toed the line. He wonders if this one does. “Tell me Your Holiness, what do you know of the Sons of the Dragon?”

The moment the man shifts about in his seat, Tyrion’s suspicions are ignited. “I know they have been causing trouble for His Grace the King, and that there are some who have been openly supporting them. Why do you ask my lord?”

Tyrion stares at the man then, hoping to unsettle him with his gaze, as he has found that to be quite useful when dealing with recalcitrant lords in the Westerlands, eventually the High Septon looks away, and Tyrion answers him. “We have heard whisperings that there has been some action within the Great Sept of Baelor in favour of the Sons of the Dragon. His Grace, the King, does not believe that you or any of the Most Devout are involved, but he wishes to ensure that the Great Sept is clear.”

Once more the man shifts in his seat, and Tyrion knows that he has him. “There are some who still harbour loyalty to the dragon my lord. I have not been successful in removing all of them from this holy place.”

Tyrion leans forward, interested. “Do you know who these people are?”

The High Septon looks uncomfortable then. “I… I…”

“Remember Your Holiness, the throne protects the Faith.” Tyrion says.

“I…. there is one lady named Septa Unella, she was a favourite of that sparrow fool. Another is Septa Dorothea, and then there is Septon Barthogan, a man who knows nothing but the dragons.” The High Septon says in a rush.

Tyrion leans back satisfied. “Do you know if there are any others?”

“I know that there are those who flock to their meetings deep underground, but do not know their names. If you wish to send someone to attend the meeting, then I know that there will be one soon.” The High Septon says, his face going red.

“Thank you, you have been a good friend and ally Your Holiness, I will be sure to tell the King about this.” Tyrion says, standing up then, but before he reaches for the door, the High Septon speaks.

“What will be done with me my lord?” the man asks.

“What do you mean?” Tyrion asks, pretending to sound confused.

“I.. I have not been able to prevent the meeting of traitors. Lord Tywin was known to remind me of what would happen if that happened.” The High Septon says.

Tyrion smiles reassuringly. “My father is dead Your Holiness; you need not fear him or his shadow. You have done us a great service by telling us the names of traitors.” Tyrion bows once more to the man, and smiles at the reassurance etched across the man’s face, once he has risen, he turns back to the door, opens it and walks out of the room. The moment he is out of the Great Sept, he stops, waits for a moment and then when the bells begin tolling he smiles once more, and walks down the steps.


	110. Kevan III

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Kevan Lannister**

His stomach feels like it is trying to dig a knife into itself, he does not know what has caused this pain, and neither Pycelle, nor the maverick Qyburn have been table to tell him why his stomach hurts so much. Kevan finds himself wondering if perhaps this is it, this is how he is meant to die, after all, he had always thought Tywin would die at a wedding, and now, well now here is his comeuppance for participating in so much bloodshed and gore in the name of House Lannister. He is not ready to go yet though, there is still much he must sort out, his sons need to be taught how to rule properly, he needs to find Tyrek, and the Sons of the Dragon must be dealt with, there is no question about that. But his strength is fading, he can feel it sapping away from him, even as he sits across from the Red Viper, a man who has not caused one lick of trouble despite past assurances he would. Kevan finds himself wondering why that is, of course, most of the time, he finds himself wondering any number of things, for his mind is wandering more of than not.

“Tell me Prince Oberyn,” he eventually manages to say, the words coming out with some reluctance. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

The Prince is sat opposite him, lounging on a chair, everything about the Prince oozes confidence and surety, Kevan knows that Tywin had been deeply angered that it was Oberyn and not Doran who had come to King’s Landing, Doran was reasonable his brother erratic. “Why, I thought I might speak with the King’s Hand about some things I thought worth discussing. Things that I know the King does not have time for listening to.”

Kevan is immediately on alert, he might not be as good at playing the game as Tywin was, but he knows how to read people, he had to, in order to make up for Tywin’s lack in that department. “And what pray tell is that my Prince?”

Prince Oberyn flashes him a winning smile, and that only serves to heighten the tension within him. “Welll, for one, I wished to inform you of a letter I received from my brother today. Princess Myrcella is very well, in fact she is so well and is enjoying her time in Dorne so much that she was wondering when her marriage might take place.”

That surprises Kevan, if he remembers correctly, Myrcella is no older than twelve namedays now, and yet Tywin had always said she was a precocious child, and yet something about this makes him suspicious, it seems as though the Dornish are putting words into place that they might not otherwise have said. “I see, and do you have this letter on your person my prince?” he asks cautiously.

The Prince, sighs. “Unfortunately not, I am sorry Ser, but I had thought to keep it safe with Ellaria, lest the Tyrells get their hands onto it.”

Kevan keeps his face expressionless when he asks. “What do you mean by that my Prince? The Tyrells are our allies, just as you and your family are. They would have no reason to act in a manner ill-fitting of the Queen’s family.”

Prince Oberyn laughs at that. “Come now my lord Hand, we both know that the Tyrells do not like it that I am here, nor that my people are here. If they could, they’d have me cut down in the streets and reduced to nothing more than ash, for the simple chance to remove any threat to their increased power. Why, I am sure you have noticed how the Tyrells are trying to remove you as well?” The Prince pauses for a moment and then says. “There is no ending to their greed my lord Hand, surely you know that by now?”

Kevan looks at the Prince and says. “And what exactly are you suggesting? Dorne is not as powerful as The Reach, you do not have as many men as the Hightowers alone, so tell me my Prince, what is it you are suggesting?”

He sees the slight irritation that crosses the Prince’s face, and he knows that he will get the answer he really seeks. “Strength is not always in numbers. The Reach is the heart of chivalry, but they lack sense when it comes to the subtleties of intrigue. This is something I can offer. I did not earn my moniker for no reason.”

Sensing that there might be an opportunity to strengthen the family’s hand, Kevan says. “Yes, I can see what the benefits of such a thing might be my Prince, but tell me, what more is there. I do not think you would be mentioning this now, unless there was another motive behind it.”

Had this been anyone else, they most likely would have laughed and denied it for a while, before saying what they were really meaning, not the Prince though, he gets to it straight away. “There is a piece of justice that has been lacking since the end of the rebellion. In return for that justice, I will put my resources at your disposal, and aid you in bringing down the Tyrells.”

Kevan hesitates for a moment, knowing how important those two dogs were to the power his family now wields, but he knows that winning over Prince Oberyn is far more important. Eventually he says. “Very well, it shall be done. I shall speak to Lord Tyrion and His Grace, the King, and have it sorted by the end of the moon.”

Prince Oberyn stands and says. “Thank you, my lord hand, I always said you could be reasoned with. You shall not regret this.” Kevan stands and shakes the man’s hand, and as he watches the man walk out of the room, he is hit by another round of cramps, he leans over the table, his face scrunched in pain, before the world goes black, he swears he sees his mother’s ghost there, staring at him disapprovingly.


	111. Benjen I

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. Maidenpool**

**Benjen Stark**

Maidenpool, a city he is familiar with from the time he came here with his father, a time that was long ago, when the world was right and dragons sat the throne. His father had brought him to Maidenpool to show him why the south was important, his family had control over all of the north, and the time was coming to bring their power to force in the south, in the place that mattered. Benjen was to have fostered there, but then the war happened, Harrenhal happened, and he made a promise to Lyanna. Everything went up in flames then, Ned fought for a friend who betrayed him, and Ned died, there have been so many deaths, but Benjen has found his purpose, the Night’s Watch was merely an illusion, Lord Commander Jeor understood that, encouraged it even, the old order of northern lords might be dead, but they had understood something that Ned never had, only a dragon could rule the seven kingdoms. And Benjen was determined to remind the people of Westeros that.

They’d entered through a side gate, one that Ser Jon Rivers had known about from his time here as a boy, and now they walk through the streets, watching for guards, but seeing none. Lord Tarly controls this city now, Lord Mooton hides away in his castle, like the craven he is, Benjen remembers fierce Myles Mooton and wishes that he had driven the dagger into Lord Mooton’s throat when he had had the chance. He shakes his head, clearing his head, knowing that remaining within the past will bring him nothing but woe. He walks through the streets, his sword clinking against his armour, his men behind him, and he knows that men will appear soon enough, they always do in time. Sure enough, when they arrive onto Florian’s road, men bearing the Huntsman of Tarly appear, and Benjen draws his sword. He had not been good at fighting before, but now, now he is as quick as anyone can be. Within a flash he is moving to fight the men approaching.

As quick as a dragon and as lithe as a bird, just as he had been taught by the Imperial Majesty when he had been nothing but an angry young man, he brings his sword up and down in a wide arc, bringing down two, then three, then four of the Tarly guardsmen. A shame really, His Imperial Majesty had thought that the Tarlys would be one of the first to flock to the banner of the true dragons, after all, Tarly’s father and brother had fought for them once before. It seemed that as with most, the second son was not the best one for the job required of them. Another man falls, and Benjen signals for his men to fan out, they must find Tarly, and soon, for Benjen knows that the man will now know of their arrival here and he will want to find them. Benjen owes Tarly a blood debt, and he intends to pay it back in full. His sword sings as he brings it up and down on various foes, his heart beats in a calm rate, different to how it had when he had first fought someone.

His Imperial Majesty was a brave man, a confident man, everything that a King should be, and Benjen was very willing to fight for him, to die for him even, every person slain in the name of the Imperial Majesty, was a death that the kingdom would not mourn, for only death could pay for light. On he goes, pushing through the streets, and the snow, winter had come, just as his father had always said it would, but that does not bother him, he knows how to fight in the snow, he was taught how, he fought his first battle in the snow, long, long ago, when Ned was still playing house with Robert Baratheon. He and Lyanna had fought alongside their father and Brandon against people who would take their home from them, and Ned had fought they were not approving of Lyanna fighting with a sword, pah, Ned was blinded by Jon Arryn and he had suffered for it, their family had suffered for it, no longer! Benjen would right those wrongs. Once the Riverlands had fallen he would move for the north and make sure his nephew understood what was happening.

More men continue arriving, dressed in the Tarly colours but also the colours of House Mooton, the thought angers Benjen, that they would fight for a Stag, and a false one at that, it angers him more than he can ever truly voice, and as such, his anger shows itself in the fury of his swings and his thrusts, the men that fall prey to his swings are done, dead before they hit the ground. Their throats are slit, their chests caved in, their armour broken, useless against the fury of a man trained by the dragons. He roars commands and his men obey, they storm through the streets and the roads, killing all who get in their path, their goal clearly in sight. The castle of the Mootons comes into view, and Benjen grins underneath his helm, soon, very soon they shall have their revenge and justice. The guards in front of the castle fall easily enough, as do the guards within the hallway, he remembers the castle well, for he had spent a long time scouring it for things to do when he was a child.

He finds William Mooton cowering in his solar, the man is old, but not so old as to prevent him from fighting. Benjen walks up to him, and slits his throat, not bothering to give the man the decency of defending himself. As his sons appear charging at him, Benjen parries one’s blows and then kills the other, laughing as he does so, knowing that they have won, that Maidenpool is theirs. As the male line of House Mooton falls and ends, dragon banners are raised above the castle for the first time in many years.


	112. Hobber I

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Hobber Redwyne**

Hobber had never really considered himself much of a fighter, oh he knew how to swing a sword and how to defend himself, no son of Paxter Redwyne would get away with anything less, but there were certain things that he just preferred compared to fighting. He preferred drinking and scheming, and as such, when the King had sent him out to fight in Randyll Tarly’s army he had been both terrified and thrilled. Terrified in the sense that he had been one of Lord Randyll’s eldest son’s tormentors, and thrilled in the sense that he was part of the King’s game. He had learned much during his time with that army, but the King had not asked to speak with him after he had returned and he had felt disappointed, and with their father’s death, Horas had been sent off to take command over the Arbor, leaving him alone with their cousins, and the King, who he felt was growing increasingly suspicious of some things.

That the King had summoned him for a meeting now, of all times, does little to ease his conscious, still, he knows how to hide some of the inner turmoil that he feels, and as such listens intently as the King speaks. “Ser Hobber, I know that it has been some time since I sent you out with Lord Tarly’s host, and that you must be wondering why I would send you out and then not ask for your report immediately after your return. In that, I confess, I have been somewhat remiss, but as I am sure you know, I have had much to deal with. So now, I ask you, what did you learn from your time with Lord Tarly.”

Hobber waits a moment before speaking, just as his father had taught him, and then he replies. “There is no need to apologise Your Grace. The royal person can never be remiss. But yes, I thank you for enquiring, and as such, I have found some things that I consider most troubling, things that I discovered when I was with Lord Tarly’s host.” He pauses for a moment, considering how much more to say, remembering his great aunt’s threats of what would happen if he spoke too much. Eventually he says. “I found that you were right in one instance, Lord Tarly did include me in his councils before the fighting took place. And what I learned was that there was some deep discontent amongst him and his men in regards to the Tyrells.”

The King leans forward intently then, and Hobber finds himself wondering why the King is so intent at learning of any discord within his wife’s family. “And what sort of things were they discussing, when they talked of their discontent with the Tyrells?”

Hobber thinks back to the conversations, long and detailed as they were, of slights that Lord Oaf had dealt to Lord Randyll, and the land that had been taken and given to Tyrell relatives. But there was something else as well, something more pressing. “They talked about the things that you had mentioned before Your Grace, of how Lord Tarly had been denied the glory of the victories he had won for Lord Mace, and how the Tyrells were encroaching on nearly everyone. But there was a much more pressing issue for Lord Tarly, and that was the fact that Lord Mace had denied him the chance of offering his daughter to Ser Willas.”

The King looks surprised at this. “Are you suggesting that Lord Tarly is angrier about the denial of a potential betrothal than anything else?”

“Yes Your Grace. Lord Randyll, deeply wished to make his daughter the future Lady of Highgarden, but Lord Mace refused to allow such a thing to happen, stating there was someone else he intended to make his son’s wife. Lord Randyll did not like that.” Hobber replies confidently.

The King seems interested by this. “Do you know who this other person was?”

Hobber shakes his head. “I do not no Your Grace. And neither did Lord Tarly.”

The King takes this in stride, instead turning his attention to something else. “Very well, now tell me Hobber, what do you make of Lord Mace?”

Hobber thinks for a moment, he knows that his father had never truly thought highly of Lord Mace, considering him an oaf and a fool, but Hobber had seen something there once, long ago. “I think he is someone who is more than he seems Your Grace. He desperately wishes to please you, to ensure that he can prove his mother wrong.”

“And is that something that Lord Mace longs for? Is that something he truly desires?” The King asks sounding deeply intrigued by the idea.

“Yes Your Grace. Lord Mace has grown up being ridiculed by his mother, and as such everything he does, I think he does to prove to her as well as to himself that he is better than she says he is, that he can do everything she says he cannot and more. Give him the chance to prove that, and he will be your man for many years to come.” Hobber replies earnestly.

The King smiles at that. “Very well. Thank you Hobber, you have provided me with invaluable information, I shall not forget that when the time comes. You may go.”

Hobber stands then, bows before the King, then rises and turns and walks out of the King’s solar, he feels alive, truly alive, he feels as if the tension that had been eating away at him for some time has gone. The King does not suspect anything, and now he has won the King’s trust once more, he can get what he really wants, just as his father had said he would. “Ser Hobber.” A voice calls out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns and sees a figure standing there. “What do you want?” he demands.

The figure moves toward him quickly, and before he can so much as move for his dagger, he feels a blade thrust through him. “You have failed, and now I have come to claim vengeance.” The figure whispers, sounding all the world like a woman.


	113. Theon XI

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. Dragonstone**

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

In order to gain more prestige amongst his men, and in order to make up for some of the wrongs he had committed, Theon had gone to Meereen, to win the hand of the Dragon Queen. Instead he had been met by a Queen who was already married, but was willing to take his offer of an alliance, he had after all helped in defeating her enemies. The price, was a large one for a son of Balon Greyjoy, he was to give up his crown and swear fealty to her. He had thought long and hard about it, whilst the woman had dragons, she needed vessels for her army to come to Westeros, and so, eventually seeing the beneficial position he was in, he agreed. He had bent the knee, and saved his men a death by fire, for this Queen was not one to take rejection well, if the charred corpses of her enemies was anything to go by. He was just glad he had made that call.

The plan that had been concocted was a simple one, Theon alongside his men were to storm the island, a relatively easy proposition, if one considered the lack of ships that were before them. Following that they were to land their men on the island and fight any who came in their way, as they wreaked havoc and chaos, Queen Daenerys and her army and dragons were to arrive to save the people of Dragonstone from the Ironborn, it was a risky move, and one that Theon had not shared full details with Asha or his people. He had told the Queen who specifically needed to be removed, in order to strengthen his hold over the Seastone chair, and thankfully she had agreed to go along with that. As he steps onto Dragonstone, he says a prayer to the Drowned God, hoping that all of this goes according to plan and that he is still alive at the end of it, he sounds his horn and the fighting begins.

Theon and his men coming charging up the slopes of the island fortress that once belonged to the Queen’s family, the castle looms ominously before him, far off in the distance though it might be, he can feel the history and the heritage of the place. His sword is used sparingly, he would prefer to loose a few arrows, but he knows that they need to make a show of it. Further down the shore he knows those lords who are not so agreeable to his rule are landing and disembarking to fight, with luck they shall be the ones who fall to the fires. His sword is singing slightly, he swings his sword, cuts down a boy who is no older than Robb was when Theon last saw him, Robb, the brother he always wanted, his image haunts him something fierce. He parries a blow from a man who clearly is fighting out of anger, anger, an emotion that kills more people than it saves. This man is no different, Theon cuts the man down, and moves onward, sensing that something big might be coming up soon.

Briefly, Theon finds himself wondering where his uncle Euron is, he had thought that that mad man might have made an appearance when he had ventured back to the islands, but he had not, and that thought worries Theon somewhat. There is something about the uncle whom he barely remembers that has always frightened Theon, there was something that did not seem normal about him, even when he was a child, Theon knew to stay away from his uncle, though he did not truly understand why. Shaking his head, Theon just about avoids a crushing blow to the shoulder, he dances around the man who was swinging the weapon and jabs in and pulls out watching as the man falls. It gives him no pleasure, this killing, even though it is supposedly in his blood, it seems all so false, and untrue, but still he knows that there are things he must do to continue everything, he has come too far now to stop.

His body is growing tired now, though they cannot have been fighting for very long, something about it all is just draining, still he puts one foot in front of the other and keeps moving, his men and guards are with him, they have been with him from the beginning. His sword sings with yet more blood, and gore, a man’s guts are there it seems, he does not remember from where they came from, but still he pushes onward. His sword sings through another man, and then another, continuing through it all as a never ending process. It is tiring, but it is something, at least he is doing something.

A whoosh of wind flies across his face then, forcing him to look up for a brief moment, and he sees black wings, for a moment he wonders where the wings have come from, and then he remembers that the Queen is to come to their aid, or rather to the people of Dragonstone’s aid. Still she came a bit too close to him and his men for comfort there, deciding to keep his focus on the matter at hand, he puts another foot forward, when a scream echoes somewhere close by. He stops and looks to where the scream came from and he sees a fire burning bright, right where Asha is, one of the Queen’s dragons is burning through them, the green one he thinks, he bellows something, but it is drowned out in the screams that come from close by, as another group of men are burned to the ground.

Theon begins screaming then, yelling at the sky, trying to get the Queen’s attention, but to no avail, the dragons continue to fly above them, unleashing fire as they go, burning his men to ash, doing everything but helping them in their fight. This was not how it was supposed to be, they were supposed to help one another out, but as he feels heat begin to float toward him, Theon realises that he has been betrayed. As the flames engulf him he dies laughing at the shittiness of it all.


	114. Tyrion XIII

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Tyrion Lannister**

Things were becoming interesting very quickly within King’s Landing, since his little meeting with the High Septon, five septas and septons of the Most Devout had been arrested and questioned, with many lesser septons being arrested as well, the outcry that they had feared happening, had not happened. Tyrion felt relatively secure in his position now, and so as he sits opposite the King, and waits for his nephew to speak, he finds his thoughts drifting back to the letter Alysanne had sent him, telling him, in her own way, that she was with child. He was going to be a father. That was a strange thought, but one that also filled him with a lot of joy, he made a promise to himself and his unborn child, that he would be a far better father to them, than his own father had been to him, not that that should be too hard, Lord Tywin had been a terrible father. The King clearing his throat, draws Tyrion out of his thoughts and makes him focus on the present, he looks at the King and sees the tiredness etched into his face, clearly the long nights with his wife have been getting to him, though what he and his wife get up to during those nights is something Tyrion does not want to think on.

“Tell me uncle, what have the traitors had to say for themselves?” the King asks.

Tyrion thinks for a moment, recollecting everything that had been said, once his thoughts are in order he replies. “Septa Unella, it seems is the leader of their little group. Every septa and Septon I have spoken to over the past few weeks admits as such, and Septa Unella finally confessed to it two days ago.”

The King seems highly interested in this. “And pray tell, why is she leading this little traitorous gathering?”

“Because she has been offered a position of power amongst the traitorous Sons of the Dragon Your Grace. And furthermore, because her family were once Targaryen loyalists and fought for the mad King during the rebellion.” Tyrion replies.

The King seems personally affronted by that. “And what family would send a daughter to the Faith, whilst she holds onto her worldly attachments?”

“House Goodbrook Your Grace. Whilst their current Lord is friends with Lord Edmure, the lord during the rebellion was not so fond of his overlord, and was fiercely loyal to the Targaryens. Indeed, it seems that Septa Unella believes her brother is also merely acting a part.” Tyrion says.

“How so?” the King asks curiously.

“She believes that he has gotten to know Lord Edmure, and has become friends with him, so as to ensure that the man does not suspect him as his father might have done. Indeed, as we both know it seems Lord Edmure is too trusting, and as such, that trust has been misplaced once more.” Tyrion replies.

“I see.” The King says, his face showing no emotion whatsoever, there are times when Tyrion finds himself wondering what happened at his nephew’s birth that made him the way he is, he remembers Cersei saying something, but what it was he does not know, he did not pay attention and now he curses himself for that. “Send word to Lord Tully, tell him that Lord Goodbrook is to be kept close and watched at all times. Now what else did you learn?”

“The members interrogated did not reveal much, but it seems that there are two true leaders of the Sons, one who is now based within Maidenpool, and another who is based elsewhere.” Tyrion replies.

“Benjen Stark?” the King asks.

“I am not sure, they did not specify who, despite my questioning of them.” Tyrion explains ruefully. “Though I would not be surprised Your Grace, Benjen Stark is not his brother or his nephew, indeed he is more like his father.”

“In what sense?” the King asks.

“Whilst Lord Eddard and Lord Jon have their code of honour, it is largely southern in nature. Lord Rickard was a hard man from a hard time, who was fanatically loyal to the Targaryens. His sons Brandon and Benjen I think were of the same mould. From what I have been able to gather, it seemed that had things not happened as they had done, the rebellion would never have happened and the Dragons would be sitting here. That Aerys was mad, let to their downfall. But Lord Benjen it seems never forgot, and indeed, it seems he blames King Robert for his sister’s disappearance and death.” Tyrion says.

“What?” the King exclaims. “Why would he do that? My father was not the one who kidnapped and raped her!”

Tyrion sighs then. “Indeed he was not, but, it seems that Lady Lyanna was not fond of the way King Robert whored and drank and was not too keen on the marriage, at least this is what the people in the black cells who know Benjen say. They say that Benjen Stark feels that had his sister not had to marry King Robert, she would never have run away and instead remained within the north and lived.”

“I see.” The King says. “So he blames my father for his sister being irresponsible and for Prince Rhaegar being a rapist? I can understand why she might not have wanted to marry my father at that time, father admitted he was not the best of men, but running away? Not only would that be irresponsible, it would be completely unlike the Starks. I believe this man has become delusional in his hatred. He must be stopped.”

“I quite agree Your Grace; the question is how?” Tyrion points out.

“Lord Tarly has been sent with more men to retake Maidenpool from the forces of Benjen Stark, the question is, should I summon Jon from the north and ask him to help, or leave him be?” The King states.

Tyrion thinks for a long time over this, considering what he knows of Jon Stark, the boy was sullen and honour bound, the man, well the man has fought in war, and has lost his family, taking a breath he looks at the King and says. “I would see how Tarly does Your Grace, if he does not succeed, then summon Stark. It would not do to have him think he is being destined to kill his family.”

 


	115. Benjen II

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. Maidenpool**

**Benjen Stark**

Winter had truly come to Westeros, snow lined the streets in thick blankets, hardly anyone had come out of their homes, and the streets were clear of the muck that would normally be so problematic. The war had cost them valuable time to bring in food and other supplies, but somehow the people of Maidenpool had done as they always had done, and were managing through it. Benjen had to admit, he admired them somewhat, whilst their liege lord was a craven and the man’s sons were dead, the people were made of strong stuff, determined not to let a change of guard throw them off. He had enjoyed his time here as a boy, when his father had come south to see what moves could be made to strengthen their position within the south. That had been when Benjen was just a boy, before everything had gone south, now he was a man, and as he looks down at the man whose men he had killed whilst taking the city, he has to wonder what will happen now. Randyll Tarly is not a tall man, but he holds himself in a manner that makes him look impressive.

“So tell me Lord Tarly, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Benjen calls down. “Last I had heard, your son was to marry the Lady of Maidenpool, a shame that that cannot happen now.”

Lord Tarly’s men, or rather those he had left within Maidenpool had been slaughtered by Benjen and his men, and as such Benjen firmly expects there to be some form of recompense. “I have come here on orders of King Joffrey Baratheon to retake the city by any means necessary. And I intend to do so.”

Benjen looks around them then, seeing Tarly’s mounted knights, the reach are known for their cavalry, not so much for their bowmen or their infantry, and laughs. “Tell me Lord Randyll, how do you plan on taking this city, when I have far more archers than you have horsemen? Your siege equipment might be sturdy, but it would not last for long, when those meant to use it are not sure how to, or are dead.”

Lord Randyll looks up at him, and Benjen can see something akin to either irritation or annoyance on his face. “I was once guardian of this city Stark. I know its ways as well as you do. And I can assure you, no matter how many of my men you kill, I will find a way into the city.”

Despite the urge to yell down about the fact that none outside the citizens here could know the place as well as he does, Benjen merely says. “You are welcome to try my lord, but I suggest that we have a more suitable discussion. One that I am sure you have thought about having many times.”

“And what discussion would I have with an oath breaker?” Tarly asks.

Benjen snorts at that, he had never said the vows, he had merely donned the clothes of the Night’s Watch and Lord Commander Mormont had accepted the murmmer’s farce as it were. “Well, speaking as one oath breaker to another, I think we both know that you want to hear what I have to say. If you like I can tell you in private, so that your son does not need to know your shame?”

As expected that riles up Tarly enough to get him to respond. “I have nothing to hide from anyone, say what you have to say Stark and let us get this over with.”

Smiling, Benjen replies. “Very well then my lord. We both know that Lord Tyrell has not treated you and your family fairly, his spurning of the betrothal between his eldest son and your daughter was most unfortunate. The man is a great oaf and a fool, who is controlled by his shrew of a mother. Something that I am sure you undoubtedly know. So tell me my lord, why continue fighting for him when you can get something much better. Why fight for him when you can rule over the Reach?”

Though Benjen stands atop the wall, he can clearly tell that Tarly is surprised by his words. “How would that happen?” Benjen hears the man ask.

“Simple enough.” Benjen responds. “His Imperial Majesty has friends and allies within the Reach, within King’s Landing who are prepared and waiting to remove the Tyrells at his word. All of them can be dead within the moon. All he needs to know is that you are ready and willing to move forward with this. So tell me my lord, do you want to determine your own fate or continue to serve a fool?”

Lord Tarly seems to be stuck in thought, and Benjen knows that he has him, he just needs the man to come to that realisation himself. Tarly might not be the brightest of men, but he is by no means an idiot, and having him on their side would greatly bolster their chances. Eventually Tarly replies. “What do I need to do to ensure this is not a lie?”

“His Imperial Majesty does not offer things that he does not think he can make good on Lord Tarly. You must take my word on it, or suffer the consequences of refusing.” Benjen responds.

Tarly laughs then, and silence falls for a long time, during that silence, Benjen finds his thoughts turning toward his nephew, Jon, the boy is married to Sansa, a match that seems strange when one considers it, but Benjen hopes he might be able to make the boy see sense. His musings are interrupted when Tarly speaks. “Very well then. I shall accept this offer.”

“Good.” Benjen replies. He turns from the wall, walks down the steps, calls for the gate to be opened, and as expected he sees Tarly there waiting for him, when he gets to the man, Tarly gets down onto one knee and swears an oath of fealty, just as his men do. Benjen raises the man up with a smile, for now their plan has truly begun.


	116. Daenerys II

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. Dragonstone**

**Queen Daenerys I Targaryen**

Dany could still hear the screams of the Ironborn as they had been burned alive by her dragons, she knew what she had agreed with Greyjoy, that she would only burn some of them, but something about it had just not sat right with her. Why burn only some, when she could get rid of a great pest altogether? And so that was what she had done, regardless of whether it had been honourable or not, she had done it, and it had won her the loyalty of the people of Dragonstone. They had thrown their weapons and sworn allegiance to her, some with tears in their eyes, it had been a strange sight. She had been called Mysa by the people who she had freed in Meereen, but this, this was something else, these were the people of her home bending the knee to her, proof, if any was needed that she was wanted here, that she was needed here. She was more determined than ever to claim the throne that was hers by rights, and she knew she would do it. There was just one thing in her way.

“What is the situation with regards to those Ironborn who are left alive?” she asks.

Ser Jorah Mormont, her ever faithful bear replies. “Those who are alive have promised to lend their ships to ferrying Your Grace’s men across. They will do so willingly.”

Dany looks at her bear, and knows that he still does not approve of what she had done when taking Dragonstone, and though she feels some remorse at that, she believes that it needed to be done. She is not so naïve as to believe that she could win her throne with just the Ironborn’s backing. Deciding not to pursue the issue, she looks at her bear and asks. “And who is the leader of this group, how many ships?”

Without failing, her bear replies. “Ser Harras Harlaw and some fifty ships Your Grace.”

Dany nods. “And these are men who can be trusted?”

“Yes Your Grace, Ser Harras has come to see the light in recent days and believes that his future lies with you.” Ser Jorah replies.

“That is good, we shall be needing his experience in the time to come.” Dany states. She pauses for a moment before looking at Grey Worm. “How goes the training for the unsullied?”

Grey Worm, one of her most loyal and faithful commanders, someone who has never questioned a decision she has made, takes his time to respond to this question, and she gets the feeling that he is truly weighing his words this time. Eventually he speaks. “Training goes well Your Highness. We are making sharp progress through different manoeuvres.”

It is at this point that one of her allies, Prince Quentyn Martell, who she had told Greyjoy was her husband decides to speak. “Simply pursuing manoeuvres will not be enough to take King’s Landing.” The Dornish prince looks at her then. “Your Grace, King’s Landing has high walls, and will have ships patrolling through the bite, simply relying on the unsullied and the dragons will not be enough. Even the Ironborn are of questionable loyalty.”

It is an old argument, similar to his argument for them marrying, but she had decided long ago only to humour him, she would not marry him, he was too plain and his uncle was with the usurper’s get. “And where would you suggest we land then my prince?”

“Either wait here for more support to come, or move to Dorne where I know my father has the men and women of Dorne waiting for your arrival.” The Prince replies.

“We would not make it out of here before someone turned on us.” Daario points out. “I might not have spent long here, but I know that the people would not look kindly on our fleet leaving from these lands unless it was to go to King’s Landing.”

Dany happens to agree with Daario, she knows enough to know that leaving for somewhere like Dorne will do her no good, she has come this far, now she must head to King’s Landing and try to take it. If she fails then so be it, but if she succeeds then she has succeeded, she is tired of waiting. “Prince Quentyn, I appreciate your concern, but I do not think that is the right action. King’s Landing is within our sights, and if our reports are correct, they do not have a strong naval presence. We move for King’s Landing.” A pause as she sees the resignation come across the prince’s face, had it been his friend, Ser Gerris who had tried for her hand she might have said yes.  Then she says. “What word has there been from the Driftmark and other places in the narrow sea? Will they come to my banner?”

“Lord Velaryon has sworn his men and ships to your cause Your Grace. Lord Celtigar remains firmly with the usurper’s get. As for the men of Crackclaw Point, they have begun raiding in your name.” Jorah replies.

“Will Lord Velaryon be bringing his men here?” Dany asks.

“Lord Velaryon is but a boy Your Grace, however, his bastard brother Aurane will be bringing the ships I believe.” Jorah replies.

“Very well.” Dany says. She thinks for a moment and then looking at Jorah says. “Send Ser Harras and some of his men off to Claw Isle, I think it is time we reminded the Celtigars why they supported my family for so long. They are to merely raid the island nothing more, nothing less.”

She expects protests at this, and so is surprised when everyone merely nods their agreement. “When shall we depart for King’s Landing Your Grace?” Prince Quentyn asks. Something like longing in his voice.

Dany looks at the Prince and then looks at Jorah. “By the time the moon is new once more. We shall sail for King’s Landing then, and we shall win.”


	117. Jon XXXIV

**8 th Month of 300 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Jon Stark**

A lot had happened since his return from the south, winter had settled in, properly this time, snow was lying heavy and thick on the ground, making it difficult to travel between places, and as such Jon was wary to truly move anywhere, at least when he was with Sansa, he did not want to risk her or the babe. It helped, he supposed that he had earned the respect of his bannermen, oh they had tested him alright, but he had proven himself to them, by destroying the Freys and the Boltons as well as their supporters, he still needed to find houses to replace the Ryswells and the Dustins, the Dreadfort now belonged to Winterfell, and for a time so did the Rills and Barrowton. It would be a headache to suffer in Spring, but right now, he was content to enjoy the fruits of his labour with his wife. But of course, not everything could remain peaceful, he was master of laws on the King’s council, and the recent letters from King’s Landing were troubling. He sat with his wife, looking over them now and he wanted to get her thoughts on the matter.

“Do you think that the King is right to be so worried Sansa?” he asks.

His wife, her stomach huge with child, but looking no less beautiful, takes her time to consider, when she does reply, her response is careful. “I think so Jon, after all Maidenpool has now fallen thrice during the course of the past three years, and though winter is here, Maidenpool is still a trading centre, with it being in enemy hands, gods knows what that might do for life within King’s Landing.”

Jon nods, he quite agrees with his wife’s assessment, he has come to value her counsel immensely over the past few moons, if Maidenpool remains within enemy hands, gods alone know what that would do for trade completely. The matter of who holds it though is another thing. “Can it really be Uncle Benjen who holds Maidenpool though? I had thought he was at the wall or had gone missing there. What is he doing in Maidenpool?” A small part of Jon knows exactly what his uncle is doing there, he had overheard a conversation between his uncle and father once long ago, something to do with Aunt Lyanna and the lies they were telling, it had made no sense to him, then but he is beginning to think that it does now.

“I am not sure, but did you not say that he was never truly at the Wall?” Sansa asks.

Jon nods. “Aye, Lord Commander Mormont finally admitted something I had long suspected. Uncle Benjen was never truly a member of the Watch, it was why he was so free to travel around as often as he did. But this, this seems a step too far for even him. Why take Maidenpool? Why not come home?”

“Does he not say in his letter?” Sansa asks, nodding to the other letter that lies before them.

Jon sighs, he had read the letter when it had come, and he had read it again, not understanding, or perhaps not wanting to understand how the man he had so admired as a child could be such a mad man. “He gives an explanation of sorts.” Jon begins.

“But you are not sure whether it is enough?” Sansa finishes for him.

Jon nods, wondering not for the first time whether or not his wife can read his mind. “Aye. It just does not seem like something he would say. It seems so crazed and delusional. How can he blame King Robert for Aunt Lyanna’s death? She did not run away, she was taken by Prince Rhaegar, father said as much, and he would not lie about something as serious as that.” Jon knows that sounds hollow, but what father did in King’s Landing was different to what he had always told Jon regarding his aunt.

Sansa takes his hand then. “I agree Jon. Father would not lie about something as serious as his sister. I think something must have happened to Uncle Benjen during the time he was away, something bad.”

Jon runs a hand through his hair in frustration trying to figure out what could have caused what seems like a massive breakdown in his uncle, but nothing comes to mind. Instead, he turns his attention to the other question that had been nagging at him. “Do you think I should head south my love?”

His wife bites her lip then, a gesture reminiscent of both Arya and Lady Catelyn, and he finds that she looks even more beautiful when she does that. “I do not know,” she says finally. “Whilst I do not want you to leave, and with winter here, it would take some time for you march south. But I know that this is something that must be resolved, and now that the King has asked for you to come, you cannot refuse him.”

Jon sighs once more. “I know, I owe the King a lot, he gave me a purpose when there was none for me to have. But Uncle Benjen is family, and father always did say that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, and what is uncle if not a member of our pack?”

At that Sansa snorts. “If he was a member of the pack he would have come when we needed him in the south, when Robb needed him, when Bran and Rickon needed him. He was not there then, he does not have the right to come now and demand something of you, when he was not there when you and I needed him before. He has failed our family Jon; you owe him nothing.”

Jon takes a long moment to consider this, what his wife says is true, no matter how much he might want to deny it, uncle Benjen was not there when they needed him the most, and now, now he comes back demanding their time and energy, for nothing, nothing at all. That thought makes Jon quite angry, as he remembers the loss and hopelessness he had felt at times, and so it is with conviction he says. “I will go south and I will meet Uncle Benjen, but I will bring him the King’s justice, nothing more, nothing less.”


	118. Benjen III

**8 th Month of 300 A.C. Riverlands**

**Benjen Stark**

They’d been discussing the plans for expanding outwards, when word had come of Edmure Tully leading men to take Lord Goodbrook hostage. Goodbrook might not have been like his father, but he was a good lad, and someone who would prove to be invaluable in the time to come, and so Benjen had ridden out with his men to face Tully and provide support to Goodbrook. As far as he was concerned the Tullys deserved to die out for being the traitors that they were. They had sided against their rightful King due to the whisperings of a power hungry man, and Lord Hoster had sold his daughters of like chattel, that was something he could never forgive or understand. Catelyn would have liked Brandon he knew, that she had found happiness with Ned was a bitter pill to swallow for Benjen, for he had admired his oldest brother. Regardless, now he needed to focus, Edmure Tully would have the Blackfish with him, and it was time they had a little conversation.

They find the fighting as it is happening, right in the moment. Tully banners and Goodbrook banners fly high in the wind as men fight one another. Benjen knows that the lies of the Baratheons and Lannisters have forced them to this juncture, and he knows that the only way to solve it, is to end the lies that see a false King sit the throne. As such, he bellows commands and his men come charging in, his heart is racing as he feels his horse move. Unlike when they took Maidenpool he feels quite nervous now, he can feel the weight of what they are doing, they are striking out and making all their talk, all of their planning a reality. That is something he has long thought about, it was the thing that kept him warm when his grief threatened to overwhelm him. His sword is drawn and he swings, cutting through one man and then another, watching their bodies fall, all the while keeping an eye out for the Tullys, determined to be the ones to gut them.

The Tullys had drawn his father in with their sweet words, and their promises of alliances. Benjen had known that his father harboured some mistrust of the Tullys, they were after all, not royalty, they were nothing more than opportunists who owed everything to the Targaryens, and as such, Benjen’s father had never been sure where Lord Hoster stood. After King Aerys madness became public knowledge, it seemed as if Lord Hoster was deeply in favour of removing the dragons for good, but Lord Rickard had cautioned against that, instead stating that there were purer lines who were not tainted by the madness as Aerys and his son were, but Lord Hoster had played his part in Lord Rickard’s death and now Benjen would have his revenge. Lord Hoster was dead, but his son was not, nor was his brother. As Benjen cuts down another man, he looks around and sees the bodies beginning to grow, he swears he will not leave the battlefield until the fighting is done and he is either dead, or they are.

Benjen had heard the tale of his father’s demise when Ned had returned to Winterfell, he had heard it before, but he had heard it once more from Ned, and he had begged Ned, begged him not to let their father’s plans to go wrong, but Ned had been wracked by grief and anger and had not listened. The dragons were never meant to fall, but fall they had, and Benjen had never really gotten on with his brother again after that, there were far too many painful memories for him to stay at Winterfell and so he ventured to the wall, determined to ease the pain and grief. It had hardened into hatred, and so he had continued to nurture it, and then he had met His Imperial Majesty, and he had found his true calling. A swing of his sword and the feeling of flesh against steel brings him from his thoughts, yet another man is dead by his hand.  It seems they have turned the battle, but still there is no sight of either Tully, and that is beginning to frustrate him immensely.

He bellows his frustration into the wind, swinging his sword like a man possessed cutting down any who are foolish enough to come before him, determined to find the Tullys who have caused him so much pain and to end them, just as they helped end Brandon and Lyanna. He swings his sword, bringing pain and tragedy to many families who he shall never know nor meet, and he does not care one wit about that, all he cares about is finding the Tullys and getting long deserved justice. Benjen is not sure why he has such simmering hatred, but he knows that now is the perfect chance to allow it out, to allow it to flower and develop, otherwise he will explode, he knows he will and it is something that he does not want to happen as such, he is not a child anymore, to explode at any random moment, he is a man and he will act as such. When he sees a mop of red hair and the black fish emblem of the Blackfish he bellows in triumph and leads his horse to where that fool is.

They meet in a clash of steel, sparks fly, and rage flickers to life within Benjen’s heart and mind. This is it, this is his chance for revenge, he takes a breath and begins the dance that will decide this battle, he knows it, and he knows the man he is fighting knows it, and so they move around, like two predators wondering who will become the prey at the end of this. He moves first, lunging to the left, drawing the Blackfish to his right and as the man brings his arm back, Benjen darts forward and cuts, blood falls, and so begins their dance. They swing, they move, they hit, they miss, all of it goes forward and backwards, neither are quite willing to admit defeat and so they continue fighting, Benjen can see the old man beginning to tire, and so he feints to his right, ducks and hits, and hits again, and again, he does not stop hitting until the man before him is lying slumped on his horse, when he sees that he roars victory, and the Tullys flee. Justice, for a time.

 


	119. Tyrek III

**8 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Tyrek Lannister**

He was home, how he had gotten back here was still quite a blur, but he was home. After a year of wanting to return, he was home, finally, he had escaped from the insanity that had been his life and he was back. Things had clearly changed whilst he had been away, he had heard about uncle Tywin’s death, Cersei’s exile all of that had happened, but it had not seemed real, and now, well now here he was, back in King’s Landing and all that he had heard about was true. Truth be told, Tyrek was not exactly sure how to handle that, how to handle knowing that he had missed so much in so little time, the King was married and was going to be a father quite soon, Jon Snow had become Jon Stark and was Lord of Winterfell and married as well, there was a lot that had happened that Tyrek had missed, and he was not quite sure how to feel about all of that.  Looking at his cousin though, he knows that he most likely won’t have much time to dwell on such things, he had seen the ships patrolling the bay, or at least he thinks he did, something is happening.

Feeling the King’s eyes on him, Tyrek looks up, as soon as he does that, the King asks. “You are well?”

Tyrek nods. “I am Your Grace.” He pauses a moment wanting to delay the conversation that he knows they need to have for a little while longer. “Congratulations on your wedding Your Grace, and on the expectancy of a child.”

The King smiles briefly. “Thank you Tyrek. Now let us not delay any longer, tell me, where did you go after you disappeared from the docks, the day of Myrcella’s departure for Dorne. And why have you returned now?”

Tyrek remembers the promise he made, but the King’s power is making him want to speak and so he does. “I was taken. I was taken by men who were beholden to someone or the other, who I am not quite sure. But, I tried to escape so many times before we boarded that damned ship. I tried and tried, but did not manage, for they always manage to bring me back before I could get too far. “he pauses then, the memories flooding forward.

The King looks at him intently. “How did they get the ship past the patrols that had been put in place?”

Tyrek thinks for a moment, knowing that the real explanation would make his cousin think he was mad, so instead he says. “The captain knew the captain of the other ships patrolling out and had him paid beforehand to let them slip through.”

A scowl crosses over the King’s face, but thankfully, he does not push further on that issue, instead he says. “Go on, what happened then?”

Taking a deep breath as the memories are a lot for him, when in fact he is trying to gather his thoughts and think what to tell, and what not to tell, the King will know if he is lying, he always does. Settling on what to say, he speaks. “We arrived in a city in Essos, I think it might have been Pentos, and at Pentos there were many people, always a lot of people, bustling in and out of the house where I was. I did nothing there, but then I was moved, shoved onto another ship and moved somewhere, I think it was to Myr, and then I was part of a travelling caravan that went as far as Selhorys before I was kicked out of the caravan, and that is where I met him.”

“Who did you meet?” the King asks intently.

Tyrek takes a deep breath and says. “Our uncle Gerion Your Grace.”

The King looks at him in surprise. “What? How? I had thought the man died.”

Tyrek shakes his head. “It appears he didn’t Your Grace. It seems he merely went off the map for a few years. But when I met him, he was hale and healthy, and he was intent on training me.”

“Training you for what?” the King asks.

Here, Tyrek hesitates, unsure of just how much he can tell the King, he takes a breath, then another, and eventually he says. “He taught me how to fight, not in the way that we are taught by master at arms, but in the manner that the dragonlords would fight.”

He expects the King to ask what the difference is, indeed, he really wants the King to ask him what the difference is, but instead, the King merely nods his head. “And did he say why you needed to learn how to fight in that manner.”

Once more Tyrek hesitates, unsure of how much he can really say. “He said that there was a storm coming, and that I would be needed to help weather that storm.”

The look on the King’s face then seems like a mixture of interest and bemusement. “And what storm exactly did he claim this was?”

“Daenerys Targaryen is not the only Targaryen out there Your Grace.” Tyrek says, knowing that this is the best way to explain this to the King. “She is just the one with the dragons, but as I am sure you know from reading, the girl cannot control her dragons, and indeed had it not been for Theon Greyjoy, she most likely would not have ever left Meereen. The main threat comes from the person who leads the Sons of the Dragon.”

The King leans forward then, interest writ clear across his face. “And who is that?”

Tyrek hesitates for a moment and then says. “I am not sure who exactly,” he sees the King lean back disappointed. “But I do know that he is already in Westeros, and he is gathering men by the dozen. The Sons answer to him, the taking of Maidenpool was his idea. He is coming Your Grace, and he is the much bigger threat than Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Why do you think he is a bigger threat than a girl with three dragons?” the King asks.

“Because unlike Daenerys, when he gets his hands on those dragons, he will be able to control them. For he is the Dragon.” Tyrek replies.


	120. Daenerys III

****

**8 th Month of 300 A.C. **

**Queen Daenerys I Targaryen**

The ships had set sail from Dragonstone some time ago, eighty ships carrying some twelve thousand men, her ten thousand unsullied and two thousand men from the houses of the narrow sea, it was not a lot, but it would be enough. The information that they have been given suggested that King’s Landing was lightly defended and as such should be easy enough to take. Dany was certain that once people saw her dragons in the air, they would remember who it was who had created the city, and the kingdoms and would bend to her. She pushed down the voice inside of her that whispered that was something Viserys would think, she was right in a way that Viserys never could be, for he had been no true dragon, and she, she had three dragons. Or rather two, she was not sure where Viserion had gone, but she knew he would return, he always did. Dany had seen snow for the first time as she had been about to mount Drogon, she had seen the white flakes come tumbling down onto the ground at Dragonstone and had marvelled at it, it had seemed so surreal having never seen it before. She had left with snow floating around her, and she had felt confident then that she would win, she was not sure what had led her to think that, but she was certain of it.

The air floats past her, creating a nice breeze as she and Drogon fly through the air, there is quiet sort of peacefulness to all of this, the calm before the storm if you will. Drogon, the biggest of her dragons, the fiercest of her dragons, has finally become hers in every way that matters, mind, body and spirit. She does not need any horn or such magic to fly on her dragon, she feels comfortable enough knowing that he will obey her will. It had not been an easy time getting to this level with Drogon, it had taken patience, tears and a lot of anger, but finally she had managed to bring her dragon to her will. As they flew toward King’s Landing, the city of her ancestors, she knew that they would achieve what they wished, what she wished, she had three dragons, Rhaegal was flying next to her, and Viserion was soon to be returning, she was not sure how she knew, but she just did. She could feel it within her very being, her children were going to be the key to this victory of hers. The one thing she wished was that she had not quarrelled with the Martell prince before leaving. The boy had asked her if he might try and mount one of her children, and she had replied that no he might not, it did not matter if he had dragon blood, they were her children and none might touch them. Needless to say the prince had not been thrilled with that, but she did not really care.

Her first sight of a battle is when the clouds clear enough to allow her to see the ships that are fighting below her. That surprises her, she had thought the usurper’s get did not have enough to ships to pose a significant challenge, that was what the handsome Aurane Waters had told her, clearly he had either been lying through his teeth or he had misjudged the situation. Regardless, from where she sits, atop Drogon, it seems as if her men are winning. Just to be sure though, she calls out for Rhaegal to lower himself down and go and aid her men in destroying their enemies, her child lets out a delighted roar and flies down. Dany watches him go with something akin to pride, her children have grown so big in the past few years, so big in fact that she doubts that there is anyone who could bring them down, not unless they had the luck of the gods on their side, and such a thought seems ludicrious. Why believe in gods when you can be one? That is a thought she has been having a lot as of late and it is one she thinks she might need to think more of when this is done. Her father lost his throne because of rebellious lords, she will not lose hers to some misjudgement. As she watches the flames begin engulfing the ships of the enemy, she decides that now is the right time for her to fly down as well. It is time these traitors saw their rightful Queen.

She digs her feet into Drogon’s sides and says a few words in Valyrian prompting her biggest child to fly down to where the fighting is happening. Dany feels the familiar lurch in her stomach as Drogon flies down toward where the fighting is happening, the closer they get, the more she can smell and hear, Rhaegal has been most effective in what he was tasked with, the screams of men as they burn echo throughout the chasm of the water. Dany watches as men try to deal with Rhaegal and miss, their arrows sailing harmlessly passed her child, and she sees as they only make her child all the angrier, causing his flames to come out in much hotter bursts. The men on the ships seem to be terrified, and rightfully so, you do not fire at a God and expect to live with it, Dany barks a command and Drogon begins unleashing his own flames onto the ships below. She knows that perhaps she should be more careful about whom she targets, but right now she feels so alive that such a concern is not really there in her mind. To her, they are all foes, that need to be dealt with succinctly, and to the point, nothing more, nothing less.

As she watches black flames engulf the ships below her, Dany feels powerful for the first time in her life. For so long she has gone along with what others have suggested, she has done what others have bid her to do, and now, well now she is doing only what she wants, and it feels so good, so very good. Dany wonders what things would’ve been like had the dragons not hatched, no doubt she would’ve been stuck in Dosh Khaleen, as a slave to some fucking crone, that is not something that would have suited her, not as she was then and not as she is now. She barks a command and the flames increase, more men begin screaming, begging for mercy, a mercy that will not come for them, not so long as they fight for the usurper’s get. Dany sees Rhaegal joining in with his brother, bathing the usurper’s fighters in black and bronze flames, destroying their every hope, and she feels powerful, oh yes, very powerful. She is controlling her fate and the fate of an entire army, and that, that is a heady feeling.

Just when she thinks she is secure she feels something whizz past her, she is not sure what it is but something else comes whizzing out to hit her, it just misses, but this time she sees it more clearly, an arrow, somewhere someone is not being engulfed by the flames and she must find them. She does a quick look around but cannot see anyone, and then another arrow comes and this time it sticks, burying itself in her shoulder, she screams and Drogon roars, increasing the burst of flames. She looks around wildly searching for where the arrows are coming from, and eventually she finds the source, three ships that had snuck up behind her, with men all firing at her and Drogon. Rhaegal sensing her pain moves toward her, but he does not stop releasing fire on the ships as he does so, and so more arrows come and hit her and Drogon. Though they might bounce harmlessly off of Drogon, they bury themselves in Dany, and she screams and screams, and then it happens, the thing she had feared the most, she begins to fade, the world begins disappearing, far, far away she hears a crone laugh, telling her she should never have gone so far.


	121. Tyrek IV

**9 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Tyrek Lannister**

Dragons were fire made flesh, everyone knew that, everyone who had been taught by a maester had known that, and had grown up fearing that. Of course, it was a mere childish saying, considering the dragons had been dead for nearly two centuries when Tyrek had been a boy. Now, however, it was different, there were two dragons attacking the city, and with them an army and Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrek watched from the walls of the city of King’s Landing, as the Dragon Queen unleashed her dragons on the fleet that was out on the sea. Never before had he felt so helpless as he did then, watching as good men were burned alive by beasts that were not normal. As the flames grew bigger and bigger, Tyrek got the feeling that they would all die, there was no chance they could withstand such an assault if it came in the front of them. He knew that his uncle Ser Kevan was commanding a reserve fleet of ships that was to attack the dragon bitch in the rear, but even then he was not sure that it would work. He was a mess of nerves, he turns and looks at the King at his side, and wonders what he is thinking, the King has mastered the art of keeping his face expressionless, but he must be scared, he would not be human otherwise, regardless of what Tyrek has learned about his cousin, he knows deep down that his cousin is still a person.

A scream louder than the rest draws Tyrek’s eyes away from the King and back toward the sea, to where the fighting is fiercest. It seems that the dragon bitch has unleashed her flames on her own men now as well, on the walls Tyrek laughs alongside the King and his men, but soon enough they are back to attention as they watch some ships pull away, fleeing the scene of carnage, they fly dragon banners, and even before the King gives the command, Tyrek is flying down the wall preparing the men to ready the trebuchets and the ballistae, they will take down these ships and any dragons that draw near to them. As the ships get closer, Tyrek feels his heart begin to hammer, this is not his first battle, he fought long and hard when he was in Essos, he still carries the scars of beatings he took long ago, but he knows that this is different, now will be the time to see whether his training has paid off. The ships come into clear sight and he barks a command. Several whoosh sounds follow his command as arrows are unleashed, rocks are thrown, all at the ships coming toward them. Some miss, others hit the ships, causing them to rock and break, men sinking to their deaths, there are cheers from the men, but there are those who know that that will only draw the dragons toward them.

A roar sounds then, drawing Tyrek away from the sight of ships sinking and men dying, the fleet flying the crowned stag of House Baratheon has come to reckon then. Arrows are being fired up at the black monstrosity that is surely a reincarnation of the Black Dread, and as Tyrek watches, arrows pierce the skin of the dragon bitch, causing her mount to bellow in rage. Tyrek watches in rapt fascination as the dragon bellows, the bitch sinks, but does not fall, and then black fire consumes the fleet, and Tyrek looks away. He does not need to look to know that his uncle Kevan is dead, and that the dragons will now abandon their burning of the ships to come and attack King’s Landing. “Men prepare your arrows, prepare the scorpions.” Tyrek says, having to roar to be heard over the roar of the dragons, both united in their anger and grief. Tyrek knows that the dragon bitch is not dead, not yet, and it is that fact alone that makes him anticipate what happens next.  He had told the King before this battle had begun that should Daenerys go down, the dragons would come for King’s Landing, and that they should have the walls manned with ballistae and scorpions, not much could kill a dragon, but a lucky shot into the eye or on the rider could. The King had listened and now Tyrek was grateful that he had. The dragons came, and fire came with them.

The screams of the dying would live with Tyrek for as long as he lived, he knew that the moment he saw black and bronze flame engulf parts of the walls furthest away from the King, the King who refused to leave despite the obvious threat to his safety, the King remained and so to did the people, they remained and fired their arrows and their rocks, but it seemed to be to no avail, the arrows and rocks merely soared over the dragons or missed them completely and more and more people died. Tyrek could feel a deep sense of despondency beginning to engulf him, he did not know what to do, until he did. Grabbing a bow from a man who was injured, he took it and knocked an arrow, he had always been good at archery, and as he took aim, one of the dragons came swooping down low, he fired the arrow, and watched, his heart in his mouth as it hit the underside of the dragon. The beast did not seem to feel it, for it kept flying, breathing bronze destruction as it went, and Tyrek slumped down, feeling useless. A whole part of the wall on the eastern side of King’s Landing was destroyed, the dragons were doing their job alright, Tyrek could feel resignation coming over him, perhaps they were done for.

The black dragon comes hurtling toward them then, Tyrek feels his heart in his mouth, the King is flung to the side by one of the Kingsguard as the black beast flies over them, and Tyrek sees that one of its scales has come undone, perhaps his arrow did do some good then. As he turns around, he notices that Daenerys Targaryen is still on the beast’s back, still alive and breathing, but barely. Picking up the bow from where it had fallen, he knocks another arrow, and waits for the beast to turn back around, he waits, and counts, when he gets to three, the beast comes hurtling back, its eyes locked firmly onto him, he smiles, perhaps he will get lucky, he takes aim, he counts and the dragon gets closer and closer toward him, he waits and waits, and then when the beast is as close as he dares let it get, he unleashes the arrow. Tyrek feels as if time has stopped moving as the arrow moves through the air toward the beast, his heart is in his mouth, hammering quickly, so quickly that he feels as if he might throw up, the arrow hits the dragon’s left eye, planting firmly inside it, and Tyrek does throw up then. The spell is broken, the dragon roars and flies over him, its tail breaking down part of the wall causing men to fall.

The moment he stops throwing up, Tyrek turns around, wipes his mouth and then looks to see the dragon, the black beast being pelted with arrows, it seems that the beast is disorientated, Tyrek watches in amazement as a dozen arrows and rocks hit it, sending it down, down and down, down into the water where it smashes into a dozen ships taking them with it. The men cheer, but Tyrek knows that there is another dragon still to kill, but he cannot see it, he calls out. “Where is the other one?” No one answers him, and then he sees it, falling, falling, falling, arrows and rocks and scorpions pelting it just as they did its brother, and as it falls, Tyrek closes his eyes and slumps against the wall, one of the few remaining. They have won, but at what cost? A new sun rises, bringing with it a new moon, but once more Tyrek wonders just what they have lost to gain this.


	122. Tyrion XIV

**9 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Tyrion Lannister**

The battle had been fierce, far fiercer than the Battle of the Blackwater that was for sure. Well, Tyrion was not sure you could actually call it a battle considering all the fighting had occurred at sea. He could still remember the burning ships and the roaring of the dragons, dragons, gods he had been fascinated by dragons since he was a child, and to see them there before him, it had been as if he was living in a dream, a dream that might have ended in his death, but hadn’t and for that he was very grateful. His cousin Ser Tyrek had done the deed, killing the big black beast that everyone was convinced was the rebirth of the Black Dread, a single arrow to the eye that had given everyone else the confidence to begin firing their own arrows at the beast. Daenerys Targaryen was dead, her body had washed up on the shore alongside her big brute of a dragon, the King had ordered her heat cut off and mounted on a spike, they were still finding more bodies with every passing day, the chaos from the fighting seemingly never ending. Still, life had to go on, there was still one more threat to fight and that needed to be dealt with soon.

The King had called for a meeting of the small council, even though he had been badly wounded during the fighting, and as such they were all there, well all of them but for uncle Kevan who had died doing his duty to the crown. There was a moment’s silence and then King spoke. “We have survived dragons, two are dead, and a third one is somewhere, but that is for another time. Tell my Lord Tyrion, how damaged is my city?”

The King is looking at him very intently, and Tyrion knows that there is much and more that he could say, but speaking the basics of it will suffice. “The city is healing, slowly, but surely, it is healing. When it will be fully healed I do not know, but I do know one thing, we shall not be able to withstand another assault on our walls. We cannot afford to rebuild them a second time.”

“Are you suggesting that we do not have the resources to rebuild the walls this time around?” the King asks, his voice calm despite the potentially devastating effect this could have.

Tyrion shakes his head. “No, we have the money to buy the resources, what I am saying is that, I am not sure that we could really rebuild them quick enough to avoid another confrontation in front of the city. Those two dragons did a lot of damage in their rage.”

The King takes this in his stride, his expression not changing. The King’s voice is calm when he replies. “I see. Well then, it is important that we discover where the new threat currently is. Lord Varys? What word have your little birds brought you?”

Tyrion looks at the eunuch and notes the paleness of the once tanned man, something about him suggests grief, though why he would be grieving Tyrion does not know. “The armies of Benjen Stark and Lord Randyll Tarly defeated an army mustered by Lord Edmure Tully near House Goodbrook’s lands Your Grace. Lord Edmure managed to lead a retreat, but his uncle the Blackfish was slain during the fighting. It seems that more Riverlords are flocking to this man’s banner by the day.”

 _Well that’s not good,_ Tyrion thinks to himself, _perhaps we shall need to remind the Riverlords as to what happens when they cross our family._ He listens intently then when Lord Mace speaks. “Your Grace, please give me the opportunity to ride into battle to right this wrong that Tarly has brought upon us. Allow me to bring you the head of a traitor and his army.”

Tyrion sees the King looking at Tyrell very intently, and truth be told he cannot blame his nephew for doing so, who knows what the Tyrells are plotting, Tarly had never done anything to go against his liege lord before now, why would he start doing so now? As the silence stretches on, Tyrion can feel the tension within the room, so thick that it could be cut with a knife, eventually the King breaks the silence. “I thank you for your offer my lord Tyrell, but I think that for now you would be better served remaining here. No, Ser Jaime shall command an army out to aid Lord Stark in dealing with the traitors at Maidenpool.”

“A wise choice Your Grace, sending Ser Jaime out with an army, the presence of a hero might well help the army’s morale.” Prince Oberyn says, Tyrion had noticed how the prince had been absent during the battle, and how the rumours of his nephew being with the dragon woman had turned out to be false.

The King looks briefly at Prince Oberyn, acknowledging his comment, before he turns his attention to Tyrion once more. “What word has there been from Braavos, have they received all of the payments now?”

Tyrion takes a moment to look through the papers in front of him, it had been some time since he had last looked through them, indeed, preparing for the fight with Daenerys Targaryen had consumed a lot of his time beforehand. Once he finds the relevant papers, he looks at them and then replies. “Yes, they have Your Grace. Our debt to them is completely clear now.”

“Good, very good.” the King replies. He pauses for a moment before saying. “From this moment onwards, I believe that it is right that we begin a firm investigation into all known locations of the Sons of the Dragon, as well as those rumoured locations. Whilst we might have done so before, now we know what we are looking for, and I believe that must be followed to the letter. The more we know about their leader, the better equipped we are to deal with them. Lord Tyrion, you shall lead this search alongside Prince Oberyn.”

“I am honoured to accept.” Prince Oberyn says. Tyrion however, understands why the Prince has been chosen, the King wants to know more about where Prince Quentyn is, and Tyrion is the man to find that out. After all people speak more freely around a dwarf.


	123. Benjen IV

**9 th Month of 300 A.C. Maidenpool**

**Benjen Stark**

Benjen could still feel the exhilaration he had felt as his sword had pierced through Brynden Tully’s armour, he remembered well, the part that man had played in the destruction of his family, and he knew then that he had achieved some form of justice for his father and brother. Edmure Tully still lived, but Benjen knew that he would have the chance to bring down that trout once more, His Imperial Majesty had promised him that, and His Imperial Majesty was never wrong. Their victory against Tully forces had brought more Riverlords to their banner, many of them were of lesser status though those who now occupied Darry lands were there, alongside the Darrys as well, the march to victory was becoming a lot clearer as the days went past. There had been no word from Jon though, but Benjen was not worried about that, he knew that his nephew would make the right choice in the end, he had planted the seeds of doubt over the years, and now his nephew would come to seek the answers he had so long sought for, of that Benjen was most definitely certain. Now, there was no more time for thinking, it was time for speaking.

The lords of the realm who had gathered to the Imperial Majesty’s banner were in the solar of Mooton castle, and as Benjen looked at every one of them, he knew that they would fight and die for the rightful ruler of Westeros, there was no question of treason here, not anymore. Clearing his throat, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts and then he speaks. “My lords, thank you all for coming. As you all know, we defeated a host commanded by Edmure Tully some time back and since then those Riverlords who are too foolish to realise that the Baratheons are done for, have sought refuge in Riverrun, adding to the woes that the young Lord faces. Soon enough they shall starve, but I have orders from His Imperial Majesty to not allow them to die without having their bloodshed first. Lord Goodbrook.” He pauses then as Goodbrook focuses in on him. “You have been tasked with taking men to Riverrun to take it for His Imperial Majesty.”

Goodbrook bows his head. “I know secret ways into the castle from my time living there I shall not fail.”

“I know you shall not, as does His Imperial Majesty.” Benjen responds. He looks around the room before fixing his gaze onto Lord Tarly. “Lord Randyll, His Imperial Majesty has requested that you marshal your forces and prepare to head southwards. There is a force coming from King’s Landing and he wishes for you to deal with it before it becomes anything akin to a serious threat.”

Benjen can see the irritation in Tarly’s eyes at being addressed with orders by someone who is not a lord, who is not even a knight, but Benjen has held more power within the inner circle for far longer than Tarly ever has and such he outranks him. “Of course, does His Imperial Majesty know who shall be commanding the host?”

Benjen looks at Tarly for a moment debating how much to tell the man, he does not trust Tarly completely the man did after all remain completely firm in his allegiance to Tyrell for many years, though His Imperial Majesty has said that that was a necessary ruse. Deciding that stating the basic facts are not going to be too much, Benjen says. “Jaime Lannister, and he brings with him men from the crownlands.”

Tarly nods. “Very well, with the snow that has fallen in recent times, they shall be slow on the march. Though knowing the Kingslayer, they will most likely be pushed hard. Easy fodder for archers.”

Benjen nods his acceptance at that, it is well known that the Kingslayer is not the most patient of men, though with all that has happened to him and with his sister, perhaps he will be more so when they meet. Speaking of which, he turns to look at Lord Darry, the young man is just that, a young lad who is fierce in his devotion to the Imperial Majesty. “Tell me my lord, how goes the training of our latest recruit?”

Lord Darry smiles some then. “It goes very well, they are learning very quickly and shall be very useful in the coming times.”

“The diversion from the original plan has not hindered her training?” Benjen enquires.

“Not at all, in fact it seems to have greatly helped, and as such, I thank you for that.” Lord Darry replies calmly.

Before Benjen can reply, the door opens and a hooded figure walks in, flanked by two knights in white, immediately, they all fall silent and fall to one knee, as one would do when His Imperial Majesty walked into a room. That this is the Imperial Majesty, makes it all the more pressing that they do so, Benjen knows he does not like people who do not follow the rules. Once His Imperial Majesty has sat down on Lord Mooton’s chair, they all rise. “There has been word from King’s Landing, from our most trustworthy source. Daenerys Targaryen is dead.” His Imperial Majesty replies.

A shocked silence fills the room then, that is unexpected, they had thought with two dragons the girl would be very difficult to kill, that she has failed, well that is just yet more proof that Aerys line was not the right line. Benjen breaks the silence. “I am sorry Your Imperial Majesty.”

The man waves his words away. “Nothing to apologise for, Benjen. What needed to be done has been done, we took one of her dragons from her and as such I always thought that this might happen. Now we have one less threat to deal with, and with help from the snakes within King’s Landing we should have more luck than the girl.”

“Your Imperial Majesty?” Benjen asks uncertainly.

His Imperial Majesty fixes his eye on Benjen then, and though he is still hooded, Benjen knows that the man’s eyes are appraising him. “What I mean Benjen, is that our allies from Dorne are in the perfect position to now open the gates to us for when the time comes.” A moment’s silence as His Imperial Majesty allows those words to wash over them all, and then he slowly lowers his hood, and for the first time that he can remember, Benjen sees His Imperial Majesty, with his black hair, and violet eyes, a scarred face, the Dragon sits before them, and they all lower their eyes. “I have waited for nearly fifty years to take what is rightfully mine, I shall not be denied anymore.”


	124. Margaery IV

**9 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Queen Margaery Baratheon nee Tyrell**

Her stomach was a large thing now, heavy with child as she was, that the King continued to come to her bed at night was something that she was infinitely grateful for, for it showed that he was not like his father, he would not abandon her for another’s bed. That was a great relief, though she should have known from the start that the King would not leave her on her own, he was different from Robert Baratheon, and though there was a fierceness to him, there was also a kindness that one had to look very hard to find. She was not sure if she loved him, or if she just cared for him greatly, but whatever she felt for him, she felt it strongly, very strongly. Her only worry was over whether or not the King felt the same about her, he never expressed any sort of emotion to her, oh sure he would discuss things with her and get her advice, but he never said how he felt, whether he was happy or sad, or anything of the sort. Still, he had asked to spend time with her today and she was glad to oblige. She looks at their intertwined hands and smiles.

“What causes you to smile my lady?” the King asks her, breaking her out of her reverie.

She looks up at him, and is startled by just how beautiful he truly looks, with his golden hair, and his eyes. “Us Your Grace, you. I thank you for making me feel happy.”

The King blushes slightly as if he is not sure what to make of that comment. “It is nothing my lady, Margaery, I am merely doing what any decent husband would do. So tell me, how is the babe?”

Margaery smiles and moves their linked hands to rest over her stomach. “They are well Your Grace.” She pauses for a moment, and watches wonder spring across his face at the kick the babe gives. Smiling she asks. “Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?”

The King laughs. “With how strongly they are kicking, I think it will be a boy, most definitely. What do you think?”

Margaery thinks for a moment and as she does, the babe kicks once more. “I think it will be a boy as well Your Grace. A stag to rival all the greats.”

A tender look crosses her husband’s face then. “I would like that, I think. A son, a son to hold in my arms and to teach.” He leans forward and kisses her then.

When he breaks the kiss she smiles and asks. “What was that for?”

“For giving me a chance, for giving me a family. I know that things cannot have been easy for you, after my uncle died, but thank you for giving this a chance.” Her husband replies, showing just how young he is.

She is young as well, Margaery realises, and in that moment she leans forward and kisses him, and then when they part she smiles and responds. “Thank you for giving me time as well.”

There is a long silence after that, as they both sit and look at one another, Margaery is quite happy here, away from her grandmother and father, both of whom have been working in overdrive, trying to get her to do one thing or another to convince the King that despite Lord Tarly’s betrayal they are still loyal, that their forces are not weakened without him there. The King had not seemed that bothered, placing his faith in his trusted Lord of Winterfell to ensure that the rebels within the Riverlands were broken before he was needed. Her husband breaks the silence then. “Your father spoke to me this morning.”

Margaery groans internally, of course her father did, he could never be trusted to keep silent. “Oh and what did he speak to you about?”

Her husband looks at her a moment, and in that moment Margaery knows just what it was her father asked him about, and she groans. “He wanted to know who I would be naming Hand. He so kindly reminded me that Ser Kevan had been dead and buried for some time now, and that the realm was moving on. But for it to move on, it needed a hand.”

Mortified, Margaery responds. “I am so sorry; I did not think my father would stoop so low. I knew he wanted the position, but I did not think he would be so crass when asking for it!”

Her husband looks her directly in the eye then and says. “You have no need to apologise Margaery, I reminded him that though my uncle might be dead, grief was not just a passing emotion and as such, I would wait until my grief had passed before naming a new hand, and indeed I decided to send him out with Ser Jaime to defeat the rebels in the Riverlands.”

That surprises her, and as much as she hates herself for asking this question, she needs to know the answer. “Do you think that was a wise move my lord? I know that you have said that you do trust my father, but do you think he can be trusted enough to hold his nerve?”

To her surprise, her husband laughs. “That is something he asked me as well. I know that I can trust him, because he has something to prove. Had Tarly not betrayed me, and had Redwyne not died, I do think your father would have been comfortable enough to rest on his laurels, this time though, this time he is determined to prove himself. And with my uncle being there to help him, I do think that he shall be more balanced.”

Margaery nods, she can see the logic behind what her husband is saying, that still doesn’t ease the nerves that she feels. “When does he depart?” she asks.

“On the morrow.” Her husband replies. Margaery nods, accepting that this is happening and only thankful that Loras is not going as well.


	125. Jon XXXV

**10 th Month of 300 A.C. Riverlands**

**Lord Jon Stark**

It had taken time to muster the lords of the north, snow and a lack of desire to march south had made some of the lords reluctant to muster, but muster they had, and Jon knew they had done it more for him than for any other reason, and as such he felt a lot of pressure to ensure he did not fail as a Lord. Ten thousand men had come to Winterfell, not as many as had come to Robb, but enough to not leave the north defenceless, and so they had marched, Lord Emmon had been waiting and had marched out with him bringing some of his own retainers, Jon had said goodbye to Sansa with a kiss and a promise to return, he would miss the birth of his child, but he would be there to see them once more in the time to come. The Riverlands, always a point of contention were in trouble once more, it seemed that Uncle Benjen in his madness had sent Lord Edmure’s former friend and ally out to harass Riverrun and so Jon had decided to aid his wife’s uncle and to rid them of this threat.

The words from his uncle’s letter were still playing around in his head, it did not seem real, his uncle could not be this mad, surely not? The Benjen Stark that Jon remembered was calm and collected, he was not mad, and he was not a dragon lover. There was no need for Uncle Benjen to love the Targaryens, it had been the dragons who had caused the deaths of Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Brandon and Lord Rickard with their carelessness and their arrogance, the Baratheons were not responsible for that. Frankly, Jon was angry with his uncle for bringing more war and suffering to Westeros, there was no chance that he was in his right mind, and Jon knew that once he was finished dealing with the Goodbrooks and their allies, he would need to venture out to Maidenpool and either knock some sense into his uncle, or bring him in, for allowing him to remain out and about was too great a threat, and Jon would not allow such a threat to his family to stand. The sounds of drums and hoof beats brought him out of his reverie, they were drawing closer to the scene of battle, he knew that Lord Edmure had been baited out of Riverrun once more and as such there would be fierce fighting.

Ghost at his side, Jon feels the rush of battle begin to flow through him, it is not something he enjoys, but it is something that needs to be done, and he has always been dutiful, he will ensure that this threat is done, and then he shall move onto deal with his uncle. The closer they get, the more he can feel his heart begin to race, there is something about all of this that makes him feel not human, as if he is something else, someone else, but these are all the idle wanderings of a man who has a task to carry out and so he shelves these thoughts and draws his sword, preparing for the crash of impact. Lord Umber commands the right, and Lord Karstark the left, Jon has taken the van and as such knows how he and his men perform now will dictate how this battle goes. Lord Emmon is somewhere, within the centre, somewhere far and distant but watched, Jon does not trust the man, he is a Frey after all. They find the battle already raging, and as such Jon takes a moment to gauge where everyone is, the moment he spots the banner of House Goodbrook he unleashes a roar and then charges.

Snow is falling as they ride toward the enemy, and though in ordinary circumstances, Jon might be worried about losing sight of the enemy, this is no ordinary snow, it is snow made by the gods, and as such it will guide them toward victory, of that Jon is sure. His sword lashes out and cuts deep into a man bearing the arms of the Darrys, and soon the battle is in full swing. Jon ducks, dodges, and then hacks, he does this so many times that it becomes routine to him, his breathing is steady, despite the heavy exertions that he is forcing on his body. Ice sings as it cuts through first one, then a second and then a third man, all of them pulling away from him, clutching their bodies as parts go missing. Ghost is right at his side, a savage animal tearing chunks of out men and horses, the snow falls from the sky as white, but lands on the ground red, and as such, the north has come to wreak its full vengeance. Men come charging toward him, and they are dispatched easily enough, it is not really that much of a challenge truth be told, when his blood is up as it is now, none are really a threat to him. His sword has a mind of its own and as such does as it will, and he merely follows.

When he sees the personal banner of Lord Goodbrook, something within him changes, this is a man who has dared to break the King’s peace, a man he had bent the knee to, and as such this is a man who deserves death and all kinds of other pain, pain that Jon shall inflict on him. He bellows a challenge and then spurs his horse on, the snow is slippery, he knows that, but he does not care, all he cares about is getting to Goodbrook and ending this battle here and now. He cuts through those who get in his way, and then they are fighting, steel clanking against steel, sparks begin flying off one another. His heart is hammering within his chest, and he feels alive, so very alive, then his sword takes off Goodbrook’s sword hand, then it removes his other hand, then Ice takes off the man’s head, and the battle ends as the enemy throws down their weapons.

 


	126. Jaime V

**10 th Month of 300 A.C. Riverlands**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

It was strange not having Cersei within King’s Landing, but that was neither here nor there now, that the King had sent him out to deal with Lord Tarly and his group of rebels suggested that he still had the King’s trust, and as such Jaime was determined not to lose it. Tarly’s defection was quite surprising, but not completely surprising, after all, Mace Tyrell was a fat oaf, who took credit for things that he really should not take credit for, so Jaime could not blame the man for wanting a change, but to change sides to a dragon or even Benjen Stark, well now that was something else entirely. As far as he could remember, Tarly had never shown any of the dragon sympathies that someone like Lord Mathis Rowan had, and the fact that Rowan was still fighting for the King was highly indicative of what he thought of this Dragon person, whoever they might be. And so, that Tarly had changed sides was a surprise, but not as big a one as the King giving Tyrell co command over the host they were leading to deal with Tarly.

Tyrell had blustered about this and that, stating what he was going to do to Tarly when they crossed paths, and Jaime had nodded, though secretly he had been laughing throughout it all, Tyrell could not wield a sword let alone command a host, and therefore, Jaime had done the sensible thing and placed him in command of the reserve, using words the King had said to him as justification for doing so. Tyrell had not been happy about that, but he had gotten on with it, and for that Jaime had been very grateful. The one thing Tyrell had been useful for, was mining him for information about Tarly, discussing what his most likely moves were to be, as well as what possible plans he might put in place if things were to go awry. After learning these, Jaime had decided against placing himself in command of the van, instead that honour would go to Lord Cafferen, a man who continued to profess his loyalty to the King and therefore would have a chance to show it. Jaime was in command of the centre, and would go into battle after Cafferen had.  Indeed, as he waited for the signs of Cafferen’s successful entrance into the fray, Jaime found himself regretting making that decision, he was no good waiting, he needed to be leading the charge, but he was not a young man anymore, and so he waited and waited.

The sound of cheering and roars of battle reach Jaime, and he smiles, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he takes his lance from his squire, waits a moment and then bellows. “Men of the crownlands, today we fight to remove the realm of traitors. For the King!” The shout is taken up by others, and soon they are charging toward the fray of battle. Jaime knows roughly how many men Tarly has, and he knows he has more, more than enough to overwhelm Tarly with sheer numbers, but that would not be good strategy, for it would mean more men dead, and less men to man King’s Landing should things get heated. His lance catches a man off balance and flings him from his horse, Jaime laughs at how ridiculous the man looks flying off as he does. Another man catches the lance and soon it shatters, Jaime draws his sword, and the true fighting begins. He swings his sword, cutting this way and that, the man before him ducks and dodges, and then attacks back, but he is sloppy, the winter chill has frozen their hands, and they exchange blows backwards and forwards, dancing a dance that is well known to Jaime. Eventually, it is the snow that causes his opponenets fall, his horse slipping on a pile of it, and making sure the man leans forward just as Jaime swings upwards.

The man falls off his horse, Jaime pulls his sword out of the man and advances forward, his blood is up, he knows that now, and he is determined to make good of this new found energy. The fighting is sluggish around him, snow is hampering what would normally be the frenetic pace of battle, and whilst that is a bad thing, it also means that Jaime is able to see things more clearly. He can see the way in which Tarly’s men are leaning to the right, as if they are planning on launching arrows into the sky, but Jaime knows that Tarly did not take any archers with him when he went to Maidenpool only cavalry, which in itself is posing a small problem though it seems Cafferen has dealt well with the heavy horse. Jaime cuts down another man, before that man can get close enough to do serious damage. He looks around and finds something to his liking and so he advances forward, swinging his sword, he cuts men down, laughing as he does so, feeling exhilarated, this is the only time he truly feels alive, when fighting, when killing, this is what he is, nothing else, nothing more. It might have frightened him when he was just a boy of seventeen, but not anymore, he has learned how to embrace it.

Snow falls heavily onto the ground, freezing as it lands, but Jaime and everyone else who is fighting in this battle pushes on, determined to not allow the weather stopping them from fighting, from killing. A strange thought really, some might mourn the loss of more life, but in a way this is a good thing, at least now there will be fewer mouths to feed as winter progresses, that will be a boon. Jaime swings his sword, cuts down one man, and then another, and as it progresses, he begins sweating, feeling his sweat warm his body is a strange sensation, but he continues onward regardless. More men fall to the ground, they are broken and battered, still the fighting goes on. And that is when Jaime sees him, Tarly, his armour covered in dents and bruised, his sword red from point to hilt, Jaime yells a challenge and dashes towards him, their blades meet in the air. Tarly might have Valyrian Steel, but he is a commander, Jaime has always been a fighter, a swordsman first. Swing, miss, swing, hit, swing, miss, swing, hit, it becomes a song as they fight, neither managing to truly hit and strike properly, but then Jaime knocks the man’s sword out of his hand and on the upstroke removes helm, screaming as he does so, his arms aching from the effort, he sees Tarly staring at him with cold eyes, and then he brings his sword down, burying it deep within Tarly’s face.


	127. Benjen V

**10 th Month of 300 A.C. Maidenpool**

**Benjen Stark**

He could see the smoke and fire of the battle between Lannister and Tarly forces from where he was sat atop his horse, outside the gates of Maidenpool. Goodbrook was dead, his forces broken, and it was likely that Tarly was dead as well, they had gambled on this, but Benjen was not sure whether it had been the right move or not. Something had nagged away at him as he had watched Goodbrook and Tarly ride away for their respective foes, but His Imperial Majesty had been adamant that they ride out and prove themselves. Well Goodbrook was dead, and now Jon was here, Jon, his nephew, was here with an army of northmen, and as Benjen looked at him, he could tell his nephew was angry, very angry, so angry in fact, he reminded Benjen of Brandon. Brandon had always looked like that when he was angry, as if he was going to strike you for some insolence, real or imagine, it was funny to look on, though Benjen kept a straight face. After a while the silence became tedious, so he spoke. “Lord Stark, Jon. How nice for you to have come here. Tell me, how did it feel to kill someone who was fighting for what he believed was right?” The question comes out sounding harsh, and Benjen has to remind himself that his nephew is not Ned.

However, that seems to be quite hard, when his nephew squares himself up as Ned would do. “Goodbrook had sworn himself to King Joffrey, he was a traitor, and he deserved the death he got.” Jon replies.

Intrigued, Benjen asks. “And what of those on his lands and within his castle? Did they deserve the deaths they got?” Word of the carnage that had followed the fighting had reached them not long after it had happened, and it had been something horrific.

Judging by the expression that crosses his nephew’s face, it seems that Jon agrees. “I do not think they did, but that is the way of war. Now,” his nephew says, pausing for a moment, before continuing. “Tell me uncle, what nonsense is this that you have spouted in letters to me?”

He feels anger begin to grow within him. “It is not nonsense Jon; it is the truth.” He gestures to the city behind him. “In that city, resides the true King of Westeros, the man who will bring light back to these kingdoms.”

His nephew does not look convinced at that. “And how do you know this uncle? Has this man got any experience at ruling? Daenerys Targaryen did, but she seemed to be a terrible ruler. How do I know you are not lying?”

That his nephew has asked that question gives him hope, perhaps he might finally be able to reach out to him. “Because I have seen him rule, I have lived and served him for as long as I can remember Jon. He is what the Seven Kingdoms need, he is the balm to the wounds that Aerys and Robert and Joffrey had wrought to Westeros.”

His nephew stiffens at the mention of Joffrey’s name, and Benjen curses himself for bringing the boy up. “Joffrey did nothing wrong, he has spent his entire reign trying to fix his father’s mistakes.”

Benjen stares at his nephew surprised. “He is the reason that Robb is dead, that Ned is dead. He is the reason that Bran and Rickon are dead.”

His nephew shakes his head firmly then. “You are wrong. Joffrey did not make Robb break his vows to the Freys, nor did he force Theon Greyjoy to do what he did in Winterfell. As for father, that was your King’s doing. I know that the Sons are controlled by the man within Maidenpool. Your master killed my father.”

“Those arrows were meant for Joffrey. Ned was supposed to survive.” Benjen responds, as much as he might despise his brother, he would never have wanted him to die in such a manner. “Now tell me Jon, what will you do? Will you side with me and fight to restore the rightful King to the throne, or will you fight for the Baratheon boy?”

His nephew is silent for a long moment and then instead of responding to the question asks. “Where were you when Robb needed you? Where were you when Bran and Rickon were you? You were not in the north. How dare you demand that I side with you now, when you were not there for our family. Where were you?”

The words hit him hard, and though he can feel something else on the tip of his tongue, he forces that down and responds. “I was doing what needed to be done. I was ensuring that our family would not suffer when His Imperial Majesty retook his throne.”

Jon laughs then, the sound chilling to Benjen. “So you were grovelling. You were not trying to help our family whatsoever. You swore an oath to the Night’s Watch, by rights I should remove your head from your shoulders for desertion.”

“So do it then.” Benjen retorts. “If you are so determined to live up to the rules that my brother set before you, do it, remove my head.”

The boy looks completely stunned at this. “What made you so hateful?” his nephew asks softly.

Benjen closes his eyes for a moment, thinking through everything that happened to their family when the rebellion broke out, and how he was broken, how he was spurned and broken by the Baratheons and so he says. “The Baratheons that is what made me hateful Jon. They are not right for us or for the kingdoms, they take what they want, not caring for the wreckage they leave behind.”

His nephew looks at him in silence and then laughs. “Do you hear yourself uncle? You are doing exactly what you are accusing the Baratheons of doing. I do not know what made you this way, but I will not join you in this mess.”

Benjen sighs then. “So then, I suppose this means war.”

“Indeed it does.” His nephew replies, before he turns his horse around and rides off to his men, Benjen watches him disappear, his heart heavy with regret.


	128. Jon XVI

****

**10 th Month of 300 A.C. Maidenpool**

**Lord Jon Stark**

Jon rides away from his uncle, his heart heavy with grief and anger. He knows what is to come, he knows that this can only end one way, that it could only ever end one way, but to now be confronted with that reality, well that is a difficult thing to swallow. As he rides back, he turns around slightly, and sees that his uncle has already begun rallying his men, the fact that his uncle has not gone back inside Maidenpool with its high walls and its archers, suggests to Jon, that his uncle does not want to survive through this, something that makes him quite sad. He arrives back at the front of the line and when Jory asks him what it will be, he replies simply. “War.” The word is passed down the lines, given to all the commanders and those who have come with Jon for this show down. He is not happy about this, but he will do as has been asked of him, he will fight and he will win, for there is no other option, not if he wishes to protect his wife and unborn child and all that he stands for.

Jon feels a chill run through him then as the horns sound for war, he watches as his men get into formation, on the other side, his uncle’s men form up, there are no archers there, it seems the winter winds have convinced his uncle against that, or perhaps they are merely hiding somewhere, waiting to be launched as a surprise. There is some suspicion within him that that might be the case, still, he allows Karstark to move out first, leading the vanguard, charging as if his life depends on it, it does Jon realises, all of their lives depend on it, ensuring that there is nothing wrong with the fight that comes, that they emerge triumphant at the end of all of this. Jon watches through the pale sky and wind as Karstark clashes with the men of his uncle’s force, he watches as men fall to their deaths and as more come forward cutting and slashing, he watches and watches, and then when he has had enough he begins preparing himself to ride out and lead the centre. “Form up.” He bellows. The command repeated down the centre lines, and then when the time comes he unsheathes Ice and roars. “For Winterfell, and for King Joffrey.” The cry is repeated and soon they are dashing off to take on the foe before them.

The crash, when it comes sends a shock rushing through Jon’s arms and into his body, it is fierce, something primal and something that he has longed for, for as long as he can remember. The fighting continues, and Ice soon takes the lead in dealing with the foe that comes before them. Jon tries his hardest to not think of anything else but the men who continue throwing themselves in front of him, so willing to die for a man who has not yet shown himself. But, Jon keeps thinking of his uncle, of the strange look in his eye, when he spoke of this Imperial Majesty, Jon cannot help but wonder what sort of person inspires that sort of fanatic devotion that someone such as Uncle Benjen is willing to sacrifice all to see them on the throne. It does not make sense to Jon, and yet the thought does not go away, it remains within him as he cuts down one man after another, slashing and ducking, dodging and breaking, hoping against hope that he comes across his uncle so that he takes him prisoner, he does not want to kill his uncle but he suspects that he might have to.

As he had thought, the archers come out then, and Jon can see the fear in his men’s eyes, or rather, he is not sure the archers have come out, but he does know that there are arrows flying about, taking out men to his left and to his right, on and on it goes, a chaotic dance that seems to be breaking through everything. Jon bellows for his men to remain to hold, he need not worry, it seems that they have a mad urge to continue fighting even if it means their own deaths, Jon continues swinging his sword, pushing through the throng that threatens to break them all. He’s not sure how many men are on his uncle’s side, but he knows that they are perhaps evenly matched, or thereabouts, the thought is a reassuring one, but still, Jon knows he needs to keep pushing forward. Forward and forward, that is the only way to ensure that they do not break and falter, the north might know how to fight in winter, but fighting in winter with arrows raining all hell down on you is something else. The arrows stop then, and Jon thinks to himself that perhaps they have lost their spark, or perhaps they are out, he does not stop to think, he just keeps going, swinging his sword, Ghost at his side, fierce in his anger.

The fighting rages on, there is pain and pressue on everyside, still he fights, Jon does not know how to stop, he does not think he could even if he wanted to, he continues fighting, swinging his sword, cutting through men and doing what he can to ensure that things are smooth. It is not an easy process, he continues fighting, and as more and more bodies begin piling up next to him in the snow he wonders if perhaps this is the right way to go about things. His arms ache, Ice is heavy, a heavy blade, but it is a weight he is willin to bare, and so he continues onward, fighting, pushing forward, he can see the walls of Maidenpool in sight, he lets loose a roar, and soon they are pushing through completely, Maidenpool open before them. Men fall and soon they are breaking through the gates, riding through the city toward where it appears the castle is, however, before they can reach the castle, a large dragon appears in the sky, blocking out the sun, but the blow of fire does not come. Instead a head is dropped before Jon, the head of his uncle.


	129. Tyrion XV

**11 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Tyrion Lannister**

The King was sat atop the Iron Throne, looking small against the many blades that made up the throne. It was late, the sun had set long ago and the moon was in its highest position, all was quiet within the Red Keep as well as within the city, but Tyrion had a feeling that something was about to happen. He always did. When the King speaks, he listens intently. “Oberyn Martell and Quentyn Martell, what do you think they are planning uncle?” the King asks.

Tyrion thinks for a moment and then responds. “I think that the heads of Clegane and Lorch are enough to satisfy their desire to remove us from power Your Grace, at least for Prince Oberyn. Prince Quentyn, I am not sure of, there is something that he is not telling me, or Varys, and I am not sure whether or not he can be trusted.” Prince Quentyn is most definitely, his father’s son, stubborn, and quiet as a mouse, he says little, but what he does say leaves Tyrion often shocked and surprised. Still, he has his deal with Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne, and as such there would be little chance for a betrayal now, at least that is what he hopes.

“Prince Oberyn agreed to the offer you made him. Why would he do that, if he were going to switch sides and work with this pretender who leads the Sons of the Dragon?” the King asks, though Tyrion suspects he already knows the answer.

“Prince Oberyn is a Martell Your Grace, they are infamous for their lack of honour and good common sense. They cry injustice at many things, but forget that they have done much worse than has been done to them before. I do believe though that by working with Princess Arianne, we have exposed the fatal flaw within Doran Martell’s plan.” Tyrion responds. “By keeping his daughter away from his plans, the man has not only crippled himself, he has angered his brother. And that is something no man can truly abide by.”

“I do not understand why Prince Doran would not include his heir into his plans, and instead include his unpredictable brother and his same minded son into them. It is almost as if he has a death wish.” The King states.

“I think that is exactly what Prince Doran has Your Grace.” Tyrion responds, and seeing the confused look on the King’s face, he expands. “Princess Arianne is a hot head, but she has her uncle and his daughters’ allegiance, Prince Quentyn is not going to inspire the minds and hearts of Dorne. No, only the third child, the one who is Doran and Oberyn combined can. I believe that Prince Doran wants and has always intended for Prince Trystane to become his heir.”

The King’s face remains expressionless, though Tyrion suspects what he has said has hit home. “So in sending his brother here, and in allowing his son to come to Daenerys and then remain within King’s Landing, Doran is hoping that we shall remove these two threats from his youngest son’s path and that Arianne will do something foolish in retaliation? How very interesting.”

Tyrion nods, he knows that perhaps this might be a bit of a stretch, but it is something nonetheless and that is more than they have just now. “Indeed, I do think that perhaps we should allow Prince Quentyn to go wandering the streets tonight, in case he comes across the Sons. Then we would have the excuse to see him killed.”

“You think the Sons of the Dragon would kill Quentyn Martell? Why?” the King asks.

“Because to them he has betrayed the cause, by bending the knee to you, he has betrayed them and all they stand for. We know from Prince Oberyn that the Sons hold such things quite dear to their person. I do not think he would survive long.” Tyrion states.

Silence falls between them then, and during the course of that silence Tyrion finds himself thinking of Myrcella, the niece he has not seen in a year, he wonders how she is doing, whether or not she truly enjoys her time in Dorne and with Trystane Martell. He supposes at the end of the day, it does not matter, she will be a Princess of Dorne very soon, and her husband will rule Dorne in good time, that is something at least. The King breaks the silence and says. “I think that perhaps we might give the Sons of the Dragon something to rise up with.”

“Your Grace?” Tyrion asks uncertainly.

“Send word to Tyrek, tell him that Prince Quentyn is to walk through the streets of King’s Landing with men of the city watch, the Prince has been asking me for a role within the city watch, tell him that this is it, this is his way of proving himself to me. And when the time comes, the men of the watch are to be removed from his person, and he is to be allowed to fall.” The King says.

Tyrion lowers his head in acknowledgement. “It shall be done Your Grace.” When the King nods his dismissal, he turns and waddles off out of the throne room, his thoughts keeping him company, he knows that they are coming toward the end of the war, word had come of victories within the Riverlands, against Benjen Stark and his followers, there was still a dragon missing though, and that was something that worried Tyrion, still, it was something at least. He finds his cousin Tyrek standing near the drawbridge and calls out. “Coz, fancy seeing you here, I have a message from the King.”

His cousin looks at him and responds. “If it’s about Prince Quentyn, there is no need, he went out into King’s Landing proper some time ago, and I think he might well be coming back with the Sons.”

That stops Tyrion in his tracks. “What makes you say that?”

Before Tyrek can speak, there is a great roar, and Tyrion looks up into the sky and sees a great beast of fire coming down toward them, a dragon, the final stage of the war has begun.


	130. Tyrek V

****

**11 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Tyrek Lannister**

The man who dismounted off the dragon was tall and muscular, his hair was short and black, his eyes were a stinging violet or purple. He held himself as a King, and Tyrek knew without needing to ask that this was the leader of Sons of the Dragon. The man’s voice was deep when he spoke. “Lannisters, how far you have fallen since Lord Gerold’s day, though seeing as you are descendants of that fool Tytos, I suppose I should not be surprised.” That surprises Tyrek, he was not sure that the man would know who they were.  “Tell me, do you wish to die, or do you wish to live?”

Tyrek looks at his uncle who looks absolutely terrified, clearing his throat Tyrek speaks. “You are not the rightful King whoever you are, and as such it is my duty to prevent you from moving any further.”

The man laughs. “Oh come now, do you truly think you can stop me? I have been preparing for this moment for nearly fifty years. I was one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms when I lived here. And now you think that you can stop me. You cannot stop the dragon, nor can you stop the dragon.” With that the man moves toward Tyrek and so he draws his sword preparing to fight the man, but before he knows what has happened he is lying flat on his arse, his chest hurting and his sword out of his hand. “Now, get out of my way or suffer the consequences.” With that the man turns around and walks toward the Red Keep, when he gets to Tyrion, Tyrek watches with horror as he picks his cousin up and squeezes him until Tyrion is choking and spluttering. “A shame that Lord Tywin’s legacy is a dwarf. Perhaps it is better this way.” Tyrion falls to the ground, and the man continues walking.

Tyrek stumbles up and staggers towards his cousin, as he gets to Tyrion he sees that there is no life within his cousin’s eyes, nothing except the emptiness of death, the same look had been in his father’s eyes Tyrek remembers, he wants to scream, he wants to roar, but he cannot do either of those things. Instead he leaves his cousin and staggers away from his body and toward where he knows the Gold Cloaks will be, when he gets there one of the men calls out. “They are coming Ser, what should we do?”

Tyrek looks out and sees not thousands but hundreds of Sons of Dragon members charging toward them. Swallowing nervously, he takes a deep breath and then bellows. “Fire at will.” Arrows begin raining down on the Sons of the Dragon who are closest to the walls, and soon there are bodies growing by the dozen in front of them, though there are those who are not killed, those who avoid the arrows and fire their own back, killing many of the men who would fight in front of them. Tyrek soon puts down his own bow and draws forth his own sword, and begins slashing and cutting, doing what he can to remain alive.

The Sons of the Dragon are fighting with a frenzy that he had not seen before, swinging their swords, cutting, slashing and hacking, it seems as though the presence of their master has given them a new lease of life, it is painful, cutting through these people, swinging his sword, doing what he can to prevent the tide from getting to the Red Keep, all the while watching as his fellow gold cloaks are cutting down beside him. It is a heavy burden to bear, knowing that as he survives more people are dying, but he must keep fighting, giving up now is not an option. He swings his sword, roaring challenges and bellowing commands, doing what he can to try and prevent the Sons from getting in further. That there are women and children amongst them does not surprise him, whether they know exactly what it is they are fighting for is something he is not sure about, and so he keeps fighting, swinging and hacking, doing what he can to remain alive and breathing.

A rush, that is what this is, a simple rush, a pure adrenaline fuelled rush, and so onward he goes, swinging his sword, ducking blows that might usually remove him from this existence, and as such, he knows how lucky he is, but that luck is somewhat compounded by the fact that there is little to nothing he can do about the innocent blood that is being shed as a result of all of this. His thoughts are a mess, he is a mess, he knows that he is fighting for his life and for those of his cousin and the royal family and so he keeps fighting, swinging his sword, pushing his body past its natural limits, doing everything within his power to try and remain alive, swinging, hacking, roaring, bellowing, doing all within his power to remain present to remain alive. Gods it is a tiring experience, full through the pain of everything, onwards he goes, swinging, slashing, cutting and ducking. It seems as if he is growing through pain, doing things that cannot be done, onward he goes, just as Uncle Gerion said he would.

Just as he thinks that they might be overrun that this is it, a horn sounds from somewhere, and he sees wolf banners as well as the stag and lion banners of his couins the King, and soon enough there is more support for them. Battles are being fought now, individual duesl, fought and won as the fighting rages onwards, driving a deep and narrow spark between them all, and on and on. He bellows in relief when he sees a white direwolf leaping through the crowd, tearing the throats out of the enemy that is pressing in on them from all sides. The fighting stops as he sags to his knees, tiredness engulfing him.


	131. Jon XXXVII

**11 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Jon Stark**

The fighting at Maidenpool had ended when the dragon had flown from the city, leaving behind Uncle Benjen’s head, a symbolic thing, a warning most likely, Jon did not know, but he knew that he’d been right not to trust the leader of that group. As he swings Ice and cuts down men, women and children, he finds himself wondering what sort of monster would come back into the world after the world had come to peace. He is not sure he wants the answer to that, but he does know that the ghosts of the past will be lying heavy on his shoulders for some time once this is all done. He swings his sword, Ghost at his side, tearing the throats out of the enemy, and he tries to forget about all the blood that is being spilt, about all the women and children who are dying because of all of this. He sees Tyrek Lannister fall to his knees, but he cannot do anything to help him and so he presses on, swinging his sword, cutting through men and women who get in his way, trying desperately to avoid killing the children, seeing Bran and Rickon whenever he fails to do so.

Jon and his men charge through the streets of King’s Landing, up the hill, cutting down any who get in their way, the dragon had flown here, Jon knows, can feel it deep within his chest, the certainty of it all, how he cannot explain but he knows that it needs to be done. They burst through the doors of the Red Keep, charging through it all, they see a body lying flat on the ground, Tyrion Lannister, dead it seems, Jon rides onward, smashing through those foes who might or might not be there, his heart hammering all the while, and then he comes to the throne room. The man responsible for this carnage is there, present, standing before the throne, where the King remains seated, the Kingsguard standing guard at the foot of the throne. Jon stops his horse and hears the man speak. “So you are Rhaelle’s great grandson. How interesting, I had thought you’d be like your grandfather.”

Jon hears the wonder in the King’s voice when he replies. “You knew my grandfather?”

“Yes, Steffon was always an inquisitive boy. A smart one as well. A shame his son was not like that.” The man replies.

“Who are you?” the King asks.

The man laughs and responds. “I am Duncan Targaryen, the eldest son of Aegon the Fortunate, I was known as the Prince of Dragonflies in my time, and gave up a crown for a girl. I have come to claim that crown now.”

“You have no right to that crown.” Jon responds, surprised at himself for speaking.

Duncan Targaryen turns to him and asks. “And why might that be?”

“You gave up your claim to the throne when you married Jenny of Oldstones. And you are supposed to be dead.” Jon points out.

The figure laughs. “Ah, but as you can clearly see I am not dead, and I am the last of the Targaryens. That throne was forged by my ancestor, and only a dragon may sit the throne. So tell me Stark, what are you going to do to prevent me from claiming it?”

Jon hesitates for a moment, expecting the King to say something, but instead he merely remains silent watching Jon. And so Jon draws his sword, and says. “I will fight you for it. As the King’s champion.” He expects the King to say something then, but the King remains silent.

Duncan Targaryen laughs and says. “Very well then, let us fight.”

They circle one another and then the clash begins. Swinging and slashing, sparks flying, Jon feels the power emanating from the man, and as such he keeps himself focused, swinging his sword, blocking and dodging what blows come his way, he fights furiously to defend himself, and as such counts himself lucky when he gets only a single scratch from some brutal hits. He swings, Duncan Targaryen swings, and more and more pain comes into his arms as their swords, both Valyrian steel clash against one another. Pain hits him, but still he continues, swinging his sword, slashing and hacking away at the foe that does not seem to want to die. He breaks himself against his muscles, his energy fading but on he goes.

Sansa and their child, who would have been born by now, flashes through his mind, they are what gives him the strength to continue, to push through the pain that echoes throughout his every fibre, that makes him want to scream. Jon Snow would have given up by now, would have bent the knee to a mad man, but Jon Stark, he is different, he is made of sterner stuff, he keeps fighting and swinging his sword, determined to not break, to not pause, to keep going through all the pain. They are both covered in blood, but that changes nothing, he keeps fighting, keeps swinging his sword, determined to end the fighting before it gets too much, he knows that he is getting there, that the dragon is dying just as the man before him is dying. He digs deep and cuts and cuts, and cuts, and roars, and bellows, and Duncan Targaryen does the same thing as well, mimicking him, no doubt to take the fun of him, and he roars and bellows.

They keep fighting, Jon losing his strength, at the same time that enemy before him is as well, he keeps swinging his sword, and pain courses through him. He does not care, all he cares about is defeating this man, about winning and defeating the foe before him, on and on it goes, this dance of theirs, eventually he finds a weakness, and he exploits it, and then he falls to his knees, as the enemy falls to his death. Outside a dragon roars in its death throes, and the end, the end is blissful when it comes.


	132. King

**11 th Month of 300 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The fighting had been fierce within the Red Keep and without, they were still removing the bodies of the fallen and sending them to the Dragon Pit to be burned. All in all a lot had happened over the past two years, that much he could freely admit. His uncle was dead, his cousin was dead, but they had won in the end, as he knew they would. Now, as he sat in his room, he looked at the Grand Maester and waited for the old man to stop his wheezing, he should have had the man killed long ago, but he had had his uses, and so he had kept him around. Eventually, the man stops wheezing and Joffrey asks. “So how is Lord Stark getting along? How serious are his wounds?” It is strange he thinks, this caring for someone, he had never felt it before, not until he had met the boy, and then met his wife.

Pycelle seems to be struggling for air, but Joffrey knows that this is just an act, and that he is doing it to ensure that none of Varys’s birds find them. “He is recovering well Your Grace. It seems the injuries he sustained fighting the leader of the Sons of the Dragon were not quite severe enough to render him completely harmed. He will be fine within the moon I think.”

“You think or you know?” Joffrey asks sharply, smiling slightly when Pycelle recoils.

“I know it Your Grace. Lord Stark is a strong man, and he will not falter so easily to what happened to him.” Pycelle replies.

“Good.” Joffrey replies. “So tell me, how is it then that you managed to keep Jon alive, but you could not keep my uncle or cousin alive?” Joffrey already knows the answer, had ensured that this would be the case, but he still wants to know.

When he looks at Pycelle, the old man is cowering within himself. “I… I tried everything I knew Your Grace. I tried the potions, I tried poisons, I tried everything that I thought would bring them back. But they were too badly damaged to save.”

The King nods then. “Very well. I know you have been a loyal servant to the House of Lannister Pycelle, for many years. Indeed, you were a servant of them before you became a Grand Maester were you not?”

“I was Your Grace. Everything I have done has been for the benefit of the House.” Pycelle replies. “I remember my orders.”

Joffrey stares at the man before him and asks. “And what orders were those Pycelle? To enable the Citadel to foil any sort of attempt to bring back the dragons? To enable Summerhall to happen? To allow the gates of King’s Landing to open? To feed poison into King Aerys? Tell me Pycelle, I had thought members of the citadel were supposed to give up their attachments to the world when they took the chain. Why have you not?”

Pycelle seems to be quite literally shaking within his robes, and Joffrey is glad at that, at least the fool is feeling fear now. “I did what I thought was right for the realm and for House Lannister. Allowing the Targaryens to remain on the throne would not have done the realm any good, and bringing back the dragons would not have solved any of the issues that the realm was facing. I did what I did for House Lannister Your Grace.”

Joffrey looks at the man with disgust then. “And, look what that has gotten you. You are hated within the citadel, by those who remember their oaths, that remember their fealty. House Lannister died when Lord Tyrion did. I am not my grandfather, I am a Baratheon, a stag who has dragon blood. And I believe you have failed.” Before the man can even utter a retort, Joffrey draws his dagger and buries it deep within Pycelle’s stomach. The man groans and then falls to the floor. As Joffrey watches the man die, he calls out. “You can come out now Varys.”

As expected the eunuch comes slithering out of the shadows, laughing nervously. “What gave me away Your Grace?”

Joffrey snorts. “I have known you for a long time Varys, I know how to tell when you are lurking somewhere.” He gestures to the body on the floor. “So tell me then, what do you think of Pycelle, do you think I was right to do what I did?”

“I do Your Grace. Pycelle was a worm who would have simply torn your reign from the inside out. I am not sure whether or not there was much and more that he could have offered, but it was done.” Varys replies.

“Good, and what of my mother? You have found her I trust?” he asks.

“Yes Your Grace, and we have managed to subdue her with great difficulty. It seems that whatever the Sons of the Dragon gave her, turned her into something else.” Varys replies.

Joffrey nods and then says. “Very well, send word to Sunspear, inform Prince Doran that what he wanted has happened, and that now he may go back to his slumbering.” The heads of Prince Oberyn and Prince Quentyn had been found loitering somewhere within King’s Landing a few days ago, and that had filled him with some satisfaction.

“Of course Your Grace.” The eunuch simpers, but before he disappears he asks another question. “Your Grace, if I might ask, why have you not killed me?”

Joffrey looks at the man and smiles. “Why, my dear friend, because you have your uses.” With that he walks away from the eunuch, leaves orders with some of his Kingsguard to clear Pycelle from the room, and walks out down the hallway to the throne room, he opens the doors, stops at the entrance and looks at the throne, taking in every single piece of glory, and then he walks toward it, walks up the steps, turns and sits himself down. As he places his hands on the arms of the throne, he feels the change come across him, he looks across the room and calls down. “Ser Barristan bring me your sword.” the knight does as he is told, and as Joffrey looks into the pale light of the sword, he laughs. Oh what a fun game this has been. A dragon sitting where a Stag once sat. Jaehaerys Targaryen laughs aloud.


End file.
